Willing and Abel
by J. T. O'Connell
Summary: The story of the Underground in District 12 between The Hunger Games and the destruction of District 12. Some of the characters are new, some are my creations from other Hunger Games fanfic, some are Collins' very own. Check this one out if you read Least of These.
1. Chapter 1

This story borrows a lot of premise from my previous Hunger Games fanfiction, Least of These. If you haven't read it, I would recommend going through that one first.

For Willing and Abel, I have adopted a different writing style, because the story is better told this way. It does pick up where Least of These left off (essentially at the end of The Hunger Games), and it should run essentially to the end of Catching Fire, although I have only planned out the first few chapters so far. We'll see where this one goes as it happens...

1 We Live, This Day

A smile crossed Eagan Westfall's lips, his heart warmed by the celebration. It wasn't that his family was well-fed. As a businessman, he could provide enough for them without this party. It wasn't even seeing all of those starving kids from the Seam partake in the feast, although that was pleasing to observe.

There it was; across the plaza, a crowd constantly shifted, following the pair of victors that had returned. The pair… That was it, the reason why Eagan felt satisfied. Everything the Underground hoped from this plan had succeeded and then some, far more than they dared dream.

Eagan's son, Eagan jr., wandered with the group that followed Katniss Everdeen, everyone taking turns congratulating her time and again. His son's knowledge of the plot couldn't even be called skeletal. Both Westfall parents always made sure to keep the children separated from the action.

Willow Westfall was nearby, exchanging pleasantries with other parents from the business district. Eight-year-old Fiona had worked her way over to a dessert table with towers of sugared specials. She and her friends mined their way into a mountain-range of cake.

In the plaza, another round of dancing broke out. Eagan knew he ought to ask his wife to join him on the dance floor. There was something to be done first, though. He decided this was good a time as any. Wiping a napkin across his lips, he stood up.

The bar was unmanned, its Capitol tender gone seeking a moment before the cameras with the victors, something to brag about later on. A bottle of malt scotch was abandoned to its fate, left beside the only man sitting on a stool in the plaza.

"I've gotta hand it to you," Eagan settled onto an adjacent stool. "This isn't quite what we had in mind."

Haymitch Abernathy's fingers slid over his tumbler, leaving smudges on the glass. He didn't speak up right away, waited a few seconds for the words to find his uneasy voice. "Everything I had in mind is right here." He tilted the amber liquor into his mouth.

Eagan let his eyes roll for a blink. Haymitch was never on board. It had taken everything the Underground had to convince him to help set this up. It didn't matter. "Well, good to know you could find time for your tributes, here and there. Between the important stuff."

A tiny wince stung across the right side of Haymitch's face, but he squashed it, sloshing another shot into the tumbler. "Hey, I did my part."

And that was true. Eagan had known for years why Haymitch drank. Forty-six tributes haunted his foggy mind, on top of the ghosts of his family who paid with their lives for a stunt he pulled in the second Quarter Quell. He was a sign the Capitol posted, warning all the other victors to stay in line. Every ragged breath he took declared, 'We can take everything from you.'

That much blood would drive any man to thin it out with swill. Only the strongest could survive it. Haymitch had developed something of a symbiosis with booze. It had taken years for the Westfalls to realize that Haymitch was more trustworthy _with_ fumes in his blood than without. Liquor loosened his soul and distracted his tongue.

Eagan had come to think of him as an unshakeable pillar in the Underground, which contrasted quite oddly with his frequent incapacity to stay on his feet. Yet, the Capitol was sure he was a broken man. They had already expended every shot in their arsenal on him, hardly giving him a thought until the recent Games. He was reliable, pessimistic… toasted.

"Everyone did their part this time," Eagan lifted the bottle to his nose and smelled the wooden scent of the expensive, Capitol spirit.

Haymitch pawed the bottle back onto the bar and dragged it away. "Speaking of our roles… How'd the Undersee girl take it?"

Eagan leaned back on his stool a few degrees. "Rough. Pretty rough. She wouldn't have done it if she had known what was on the entries."

"Better keep an eye on that," Haymitch's words slurred into the tumbler.

"Oh, I doubt it." His eyes roamed over the party until they located Madge sitting at a table by herself, watching the festivities, a vague grin on her face. "With both of them home, I think she'll put all of this behind her tonight."

"She hasn't yet, then?"

Eyes squinting in thought, Eagan replied, "No, not yet. I thought she would be alright once they were declared victors, but it still itches at her."

Haymitch nodded in understanding, saying nothing more.

Eagan leaned closer to Haymitch and whispered, "Hey, listen. There're two special Peacekeepers being brought here, investigators."

"Doesn't surprise me." Haymitch nursed a slurry of backwash and alcohol. "Snow's furious about this."

The Underground expected that. It was terrifying that they had actually stirred up the hatred in the President's heart. "Well, here's the good news. The one who will be in charge is named Volente Covas; he's one of ours, from eleven."

That got Haymitch's attention. He turned a dogged, dizzy stare through his light hair, stubble glinting in the sunset. Constructing his syllables precariously, he inquired, "How… trustworthy... is he?"

Eagan shrugged, "Word is he's dedicated… I'll try to vet him a little before I let him know who is who in twelve."

Haymitch choked on saliva as he laughed. "Who's who." He coughed to clear the burn, "Right…"

This wasn't the road Eagan was going down with the drunk, not tonight. Haymitch had long since lost faith in most of the plan. He had lost pretty much everything. District 13 had been so apathetic toward District 12 and so cautious about the Underground plan in general, Haymitch had written them off. The only reason he had agreed to the plan for the 74th Hunger Games was that it offered a better chance to bring at least one tribute home. He wouldn't have been able to drown away the memory of letting that chance slip by.

District 12 only had a handful of people in the Underground and District 13 had advised _against_ recruiting. Keeping a lower profile for the coal miner district was recommended, since the others would be the first to go into rebellion. Because 12 wouldn't stand a chance in a fight the Peacekeepers, there was no sense in forming a huge sea of people raring to war with them.

Haymitch grunted, "So why're they transferring this Covas guy here? Why not someone from a… more prestigious place?" Prestigious came out a smudge of ess sounds.

"Oh, some stuff happened in eleven during the Games. They're rotating in all new Peacekeepers over there. And since Covas just had a member of the Underground hung, the Capitol feels he's the perfect guy to ferret out any… rebellious passions the Seam-folk may be feeling from this year's Hunger Games."

"So, he hangs a member," Haymitch counted his two points on his fingers, "and he's really trustworthy." He released a raspy laugh. "Yeah, he sounds trustworthy."

"I've been reassured by the network. Trust me, though; that's why I'm going to vet him."

Haymitch resigned with a slumping shrug. He had whittled the bottle down by two thirds, and had just started in on the remainder when a lone camera crew wandered over, hoping to get some decent footage of the first mentor to lose _no_ tribute. Eagan slipped away just before they arrived at the bar. Haymitch barely acknowledged their existence, finding them an annoyance.

Within moments Eagan was back at his wife's side, setting down a bunch of grapes he had snagged along the way. Even the wealthy in District 12 have trouble getting good grapes. Willow shared these with him as they whispered to each other.

"How is he?"

"Haymitch? Same old self."

Willow passed him a wry grin. "So, victory hasn't spoiled him."

"Not at all."

She adds, "Although, he _always_ smells overripe."

"Yeah, well, he feels his record with tributes hasn't been improved all that much." Eagan picked the last of the grapes and divided them up.

"The other districts will get things started soon. Hopefully this year was the final Games."

Eagan loved his wife, even if they never quite saw the world from the same perspective. How could they? She was an agent from District 13, having lived in 12 for twenty years, and he was the son of a merchant from the business class. They really were very different.

She recruited him into 12's meager Underground and then they fell in love, despite Willow's best effort to slither out of her heartstrings. 13 had okayed their marriage and the children came. They were partners in this rebellion.

Deep down, Eagan was glad 12 wouldn't be the primary focus of the war, glad for his family's sake. Providing the spark was all the coal district could offer, and that was done.

Willow whispered in his ear, "Lorris wanted to know about the investigators."

"What'd you tell him?"

"That we're looking in on it." She gazed across the plaza where Madge hugged Katniss. The mayor's daughter held the embrace for a few seconds longer than the usual home-welcome.

"Hey, Will." Eagan's wife turns back to face him, her green eyes masked to the public by years of careful practice. He whispered to her, "You never told me about the other investigator."

Willow was Eagan's link to District 13's vast stores of knowledge. 13 was overly cautious about letting information slip into more hands, and Willow was not one to abuse their trust in her. Sometimes it bothered him that she held back a portion of those secrets from him. Most of the time, he let it go, because her heart she shared fully. She was colder than Eagan, but the love was there.

Covas was willing to execute Underground members... He must be frozen inside, Eagan thought. On the other hand, the man who was hanged in District 11 tried to take the rebellion into his own hands. The Underground wouldn't tell him anything about the plans, and finally he snapped. Now District 11 was worse off than ever.

Willow combed her fingers through her hair, tucking the straight, dark-brown strands behind an ear. She had a gentle look, a softness in her face that truly made her a natural Underground member. The kindness of her perfected smile concealed the firebrand heart pushing icy blood through her veins.

In some ways, Eagan had always envied her. He was rather plain looking; thin lipped, hair graying early, eyes no more remarkable than spots on a goat. He found it easy to blend in to a crowd, but difficult to pull off a lie when Peacekeepers stared him in the face.

"His name's Abel Broadmark." She plucked the last grape and turned it over in her fingertips. "He was something of a star at the Academy. Top marks and utterly ruthless."

The first thing that went through Eagan's mind was, 'why didn't you tell me this sooner?' but Willow bit the grape in half and added, "He's a flawless example of dedication to the Capitol."

Eagan drew a long breath and sighed through his nose. The camera crew had given up trying to get Haymitch to say or do anything. He had passed out onto his wrists and the crew was wandering around, catching shots of the celebration in general. Eagan waited until they were a little further away before he muttered, "Great, just great."

Willow frowned, "It's better this way."

"With the Capitol's hotshot put on our trail?"

"It keeps him out of the other districts." Willow always looked at the whole picture. No one from District 13 was concerned about the small scale. Every move on the chessboard was considered for the eventual checkmate. That meant the pawns might be sacrificed at some point, if necessary.

Eagan and Willow had discussed what 12's role would be after the rigged reaping. Running distraction and working the victor into a symbol for rebellion. Haymitch needed to keep Katniss in order, and of course Peeta would be himself. Tack on Cinna's creative efforts and the Mockingjay symbols would soon unite the districts in opposition to the Capitol. Haymitch would need some prodding…

But the other districts were going to start the rebellion. 12 would be on standby, so hiding the Underground from Broadmark should be easier. And if he were to take down anyone, better to have it in the unimportant coal-mining town.

That was one of the reasons why 12 had been selected; it would distract Snow's hunters while the Underground moved into place elsewhere in Panem. The other reason was Katniss and Peeta. They were the best option. Sure a few other kids with fleeting crushes had been noted. However, 13 put a lot of time and consideration into the rigging.

They knew that Peeta genuinely loved Katniss. Eagan junior had mentioned it several times, though Peeta never came out and said so openly to anyone. They knew Katniss hunted and had a reputation as a marksman with her bow. Whether she would volunteer for her sister was in question for some months leading up to the Reaping, but the risk was taken.

Eagan watched the victors dance, smiled when Eagan junior and another boy danced around them, entertaining the crowd. Plutarch had pulled it off somehow. He had nudged Seneca Crane into the rule change, and then Katniss had forced him to let the rule stand. "How did we manage it?"

Willow stayed silent. Everyone played their part, even the two tributes who didn't know they had parts to play, except maybe for the girl. She came across as a little awkward. Frankly, Eagan thought that worked better. Everyone from 13 wanted perfect acting and even Willow was disappointed at Katniss' lackluster response to Peeta's authentic passion. Eagan had to point out that she was being genuine as well, that it helped boost the dual image of the Mockingjay.

Katniss Everdeen the Mockingjay; strong, confident, assertive, capable of overruling the government's dictates. Katniss Everdeen the girl; compassionate, loyal, precious, caring, and oppressed. As powerful as Peeta Mellark's sacrifice was, it wouldn't have amounted to much without the unique qualities of the girl he loved.

"We'll need to keep Broadmark busy so the focus stays here as long as possible." Willow tapped a finger against her chin. "Between us and Covas, we can probably keep him confused long enough."

"To get things going elsewhere."

She nodded, "To keep Snow looking in the wrong spot."

"Broadmark is one thing. Snow is going to be something else."

"We'll see."

Sensing that the conversation was over for now, more people were drifting over from the buffets, Eagan stood up and reached a hand out to his wife. "My dear, would you like to dance?" He knew she was not a fan. People from 13 were utilitarian and didn't understand things like dancing. But Willow had played this part for two decades; born, lived, and would die inside the fence that hemmed in the coal miners.

She smiled and took his hand, stepping as the music played.


	2. Chapter 2

2 Into the Grit

Tangles of branches slipped past the windows, crags of rocks peeked through as the train rumbled along the track. Volente Covas watched as the landscape accrued more and more ripples, mountains like folds of land, scales overgrown and lush and wild.

District 12 was going to be a major climate change to the warm, sunny lowlands of 11. After officer's school, Covas had spent decades in 11, only leaving to visit his ever-distant family in the Capitol, and once to teach a few courses in District 2 for the officer's program.

Being transferred to 12 wasn't necessarily a setback, considering that Kippen Silvernale's actions had made it almost impossible for 11 to rebel. With all the heat he had brought in, the Peacekeepers would keep a tight lid on things until other crises forced them to redeploy.

Covas didn't allow his lips to tremble with the recent memory of Silvernale's hanging. He had recommended it to the Mayor of 11, and even though he understood every reason Silvernale had, he knew to his bones that the attack was an impediment to progress. Covas was a realist. He had long since banished any emotional connection to what must be done. Emotions were too dangerous, Silvernale being a prime example of that.

The Capitol had set up a heinous system, carefully devised to keep everyone in order. Some heinous acts were necessary to destroy it. Silvernale was not Covas' first undesired execution. Many faces littered his past, moments of brutality and murder, every moment of it vindicated only by the end the Underground had not yet brought to fruition. Weakness was the greatest enemy of success. So Covas had amputated his feelings from his goals, from most of his life.

Weeks ago, when Silvernale had bombed the Peacekeepers' barracks, killing more than a few, Covas had not enjoyed a moment of satisfaction. The same act would be done tenfold in across Panem and warm feelings would be in order then, only when the fall of tyranny was in sight. In the Silvernale's moment, though, Covas had been infuriated. Silvernale's impatience, his short-sighted temper, his desperation had wreaked havoc on plans that Scipio had spent years arranging.

12's rebel leader hadn't revealed how upset he surely was when Covas had last seen him. Evidently Scipio's compassion for Silvernale had remained strong, even as it had not distracted him from more important plans. Covas let the topic go easily; they had only discussed what was known of 12's miniscule Underground movement. The objective now was to develop the Everdeen girl into a useful propaganda tool to unite people against the Capitol, and to distract the Capitol from the other districts.

For 11, the only thing Scipio would be doing was keeping the stockpiles of weapons hidden and the rebels well-concealed in their field-work. The Peacekeepers had displaced most of the residents of the city of Three Corners, so tent-cities had been put together on the outskirts. Something else would have to be arranged before winter arrived in a few months.

Covas turned his gaze through the cabin of the passenger car. This was a coal train on its way to pick up a load from the mountain-dwellers. No one else was in the car, so few people ever needed to go to 12. His eyes settled across papers on the table before him.

The Capitol had made it clear what they wanted, not only by their description of Covas' transfer, also in their selection of a second investigator. Covas had yet to learn exactly what the Peacekeeper Corps had in mind.

Abel Broadmark was technically subordinate to Covas. However, he was left with a great deal of latitude. Officially, the orders for the task force were to identify and eradicate any subversives within the district, and also investigate Katniss Everdeen's relationships. Broadmark was given more specific objectives; discover how the Reaping in 12 was rigged, who was responsible, and bring them to the Capitol for interrogation.

It wouldn't be abnormal for a veteran Peacekeeper to be given such general orders and a rookie to have his goals laid out specifically. The odd thing was that Broad was not necessarily subordinate to Covas. As orders go, these were muddled and unclear.

He pored over Broadmark's transcript. High ratings in everything; deductive logic, thoroughness, procedural documentation; the Corps was even thrilled with his total absence of empathy. The only thing that he was cited for in training was that he was too passionate, took his work too personally. Almost as though any act of defiance against the Capitol was an offense against him personally.

Covas pondered that as the train edged its way deeper into the mountain range. It meant Broadmark might be easy to make unstable, if circumstances were set up for it. That could be a good thing and a bad thing... a very bad thing. If the man saw any hint of manipulation from Covas, he might very well become obsessed with discovering Covas' crimes too.

Fortunately, there were few other members of the Underground who had spent as much time securing their position in the system. Covas had been uncompromising in his efforts to embed his position and solidify the government's trust in him. He wouldn't have to change how he did anything. He would just have to make sure the Underground in 12 minded Broadmark's dedication.

The fence sailed past the window and the train began to slow. It wouldn't need much distance, its cargo cars empty of coal. Covas collected his documents and slid the folder back into his briefcase. One briefcase, one duffel of clothes. For someone from the Capitol, he had lost all attachment to material objects.

The extra three inches of gut at his stomach was contrived to help bolster his allegiance to the government. Peacekeepers were not permitted to display the outrageous styles shown in the Capitol, one of the reasons most of them came from District 2; Capitol residents hated giving up their precious nonsense. In all, Covas was plain, gray hair behind his ears, brown elsewhere. Even the wrinkles showing around his eyes would horrify the stylists his parents used to disfigure their age.

As he stood, the train drew to a shuddering stop, hydraulics hissing away pressure. Covas narrowed his eyes and looked at the platform. Actually, it wasn't a platform, his eyes told him. It was a dusty section of dirt and chunks of old concrete, long since weathered into gravel. The train had arrived at the loading platforms so the workers could fill the coal cars.

His only reception was a young man with shoulders like his name. Abel Broadmark was fit, Olympian even. His jaw was square and shaven, his hair regulation perfect, and his arms toned, though not bulked up. Covas noted the young man's eyes; stern, serious, a piercing blue-silver that almost glowed in the sunlight. Maybe Broadmark had modifications done to his eyes to give him that intense look. It was not uncommon in the Capitol for people, especially teenagers, to have permanent (sometimes horrifying) manipulations applied to their bodies.

Covas picked up the duffel and briefcase, lugging both in one strong grip as he opened the door to step out.

"Welcome to District 12, Captain," Broadmark reached out to take the bags from Covas who stepped down the narrow steps.

Years of practice and confidence had gone into Covas' tone, "Lieutenant." It was such a simple response, and so potent. It acknowledged the greeting, affirmed Covas' superior rank, and subordinated Broadmark.

The younger man took the bags and turned to lead the Captain away from the railway. "This way."

Covas tightened the corner of his mouth when Broadmark neglected to add "sir" as his rank would require. It always grated on Covas to be referred to that way. Usually he had everyone call him Vol. In Broadmark's case, he wanted to maintain command in every way possible. The lieutenant was just out of officer's school, so this breach of etiquette was not an oversight. It was a subtle effort to push back against Covas' control. Just what did they tell this kid about his authority?

They walked for thirty seconds before Covas spoke up, "Where's Colonel Cray?" Cray was District 12's Head Peacekeeper.

Broadmark led the way around a maze of sheds and equipment toward the edge of the mining zone. "Cray's not thrilled with the idea of a couple of Peacekeepers picking through his territory against his will."

Still no proper reference. "Tough. He'll have to take it up with the Capitol. And Lieutenant…"

"Yeah?"

"I expect proper form out of my Peacekeepers at all times." Covas spoke quietly, chiding the younger man without slashing at him.

"Sir." Broadmark hoisted the bags past the edge of the mining area and stepped onto a street that was black with dust, pounded thick by generations of miner's feet. Here and there, the bare footprints of children dotted the roadway, arches flattened by lack of shoes, dots of toes in the front.

This must be the Seam, Covas thought, looking at the planks that constituted the walls of homes. Some of the shacks probably had dirt floors. Only about half had running water, fewer still had electricity. In general, the quality of the dwellings improved as the pair moved closer to the business district.

"How long have you been here, Lieutenant?"

"Three days, sir."

They passed a woman delivering laundry she had washed for people. "I'm going to take the rest of the day to get situated. Tomorrow, we'll sit down and I'll brief you on what we'll be doing, how we're going to do it."

Broadmark stuttered in his walk for a half-step. Covas wasted no time calling it out. "Something the matter, Peacekeeper?"

"No… sir. I mean, I already got orders from the Capitol."

"I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. You'll be carrying them out as a member of my task force. I have greater responsibilities than yours, but I will be taking an active role in your duties as well."

He could hear Broadmark's breath, hear the exasperation in his lungs. Covas slid a hint of condescension into his superior tone, "You didn't think that officers were just trained and then set loose in the districts, did you, Lieutenant?"

"I wasn't exactly an average candidate," he waited for a few steps before adding, "sir."

"Yes, I'm familiar with your record, Abel Broadmark, first in class." Covas stated it, as though it were Broadmark's title. "And be that as it may, the fact remains, no officer goes without in-district oversight for his first few years; not a one."

They walked for several minutes in silence, black dust caked over everything that wasn't cleaned weekly. Covas could see why the Underground had not developed very far in 12. 11 was bad because everyone was worked to death. In 12, the very powder of mortality depressed everyone who spent their lives watching death knock on every door far too quickly.

Developing a rapport with the lieutenant would probably be a good idea. Covas had already won this battle for command, though he guessed other challenges would follow in the coming weeks. Still, if he was going to control Broadmark's efforts, the younger man couldn't just fear him. That would lead to information being hidden. Broadmark had to respect Covas. If he could even admire his commander, that would be best. Admiration usually brought out commitment and compliance.

"Don't think of me as just a superior officer, Abel. I'm also here to mentor you, help you turn those stellar performances in training into real success in action."

"Yes, sir." Broadmark didn't sound encouraged, but he didn't sound angry. "Permission to speak freely, Captain?"

Covas nodded, "Go ahead."

"You've become pretty well known back at the Academy, at least this past month. They made a point of showing how close you were to catching Kippen Silvernale when he bombed the Main Office."

His recent elevation to celebrity status among the Peacekeepers had not eluded his attention. It had concerned him, actually. There had been more than enough evidence to convict and execute Silvernale long before the bombing and Covas had actually covered much of it up. He had been anxious that the Peacekeepers might catch on. Instead, he had been commended for catching a terrorist. Blood usually pleased those on top. Covas had even received an oddly-worded letter from the Commandant of the Peacekeepers, a man who took his orders only from President Snow himself.

"Not close enough, Lieutenant."

Broadmark nodded, "We'll do better this time around, sir."

Good, Covas thought. He's starting to respect me. And he's already associating himself as part of my team. Very good.

The pair had left the Seam, and trooped across pavement in much better condition. The cracks had not yet obliterated the form of each concrete slab. The shops were about the same as in District 11, specialized and small. They passed by an apothecary, a little girl with blonde braids sat on a stool, watching them walk by.

On the left a shoe shop and repair stood open for business, boots constantly needing maintenance from the hard mine work. On the right, a soft-metal worker offered candlestick holders and brackets and tin-ware dishes and dozens of other odds and ends. Then there was a tannery that imported hides from District 10 and sold handcrafted leather gloves, oven mitts, jackets… Covas was used to the rustic supplies.

Into the government district, Broadmark took him by the apartment complex that served as a barracks. Officers were assigned their own dwelling; Covas' 322, Broadmark's 114. Two majors and the colonel were given houses in the business district, but other than that, all the Peacekeepers crowded into these apartments.

Leaving behind the duffel of clothes, the Peacekeepers marched to the Justice Building. The rear wing was all Peacekeeper real estate, the front dedicated to government offices of the district. Essentially all government work in District 12 was run out of a handful of small buildings since the population was quite small.

Broadmark set Covas' briefcase on the desk in his office and asked if Covas was hungry. "No thanks, Lieutenant." The Captain took only a moment to look over the office. "Do you know where Cray's office is?"

"Sure, but he's not there at the moment, sir. He'll be out to lunch."

Covas nodded, "That's fair enough. I should get unpacked and organized anyway. But I think we should pay him a visit and get it straight that we're going to have his cooperation, no matter what he thinks about it."

Broadmark's eyebrows poked downward and a dark grin bent at his lips, thin, but evident. Another little victory, Covas tallied the moment in his mind. "Come back in an hour and we'll see to it." Before the lieutenant had exited, Covas added, "Oh, and Abel? Find me a decent mug of coffee in this place. That's an order."

"Got that one covered, sir. Just leave it to me."

Over the next hour, coffee always at hand, Covas unpacked and filed his papers, organized the office supplies in his desk, registered his serial number to his computer, and checked the information feeds given only to Peacekeeper officers. Several of the districts were obviously becoming more organized, though no major arrests had been made. Citizens in the Capitol were undergoing withdrawal, for want of the star-crossed lovers from District 12. Commandant Filo was recommending that Mockingjay pins in the districts be considered a possible sign of anti-Capitol agitation, even as they glittered across most in the Capitol.

The Games were ongoing. The chessmasters in 13 would have to start moving these pieces soon. Snow wouldn't wait, wouldn't sit by and watch the rise of a new rebellion. He would act soon; move his own players to checkmate any threat to his dominion.

The irony was savory as the coffee. For all the lies he had lived with, all the crimes he had committed to gain the Capitol's faith, Covas was now one of those players Snow was moving around the board. He was someone the President relied upon to do protect the status quo, and he was poised to do the opposite.

Pity that it had to be 12, though, he mused. If the Commandant had put him in some of the more fragile districts, say 8 or 6, he could _really_ hurt the Peacekeepers when the time came.

Covas shrugged off the idea. He was in 12 and could do plenty from here. After all, the Everdeen girl was to be the rallying cry. Surely Snow knew that. Of course he did. He had demanded greater scrutiny be given to the coal district, to Everdeen specifically. And the Commandant had put the dutiful Volente Covas on the case.

Silvernale had made all of Covas' efforts in 11 almost a waste. But now, in 12, his moment had come.


	3. Chapter 3

3 Demons Learning

Shoe repair was a difficult art. Eagan had learned a lot from his father, and yet he was always developing new tricks to make the footwear last longer. People from the Seam rarely had the budget for new shoes and people in the business district didn't wear them out so quickly. New shoe sales were rare. Most of the Westfall budget came from repair work.

His strong fingers anchored the hardened fabric in place as an epoxy sealed it to the sole and the steel covering the toes. Steel-toed boots were not common, even in the mines. These were owned by one of the shift supervisors. After the required number of seconds, Eagan released his grip and the material stayed in place. Next, he would apply a chemical sealant that would keep the nylon from fraying after scratches.

Eagan junior and Fiona would be out of school soon, back to the shop to help clean. He always anticipated the time when his children showed up. They livened up the place. Few people came to the shoe shop for conversation. Willow worked as the telephone operator in the Justice Building, so the kids never got to see her until she came home for dinner to their apartment above the store.

She was happier that morning than he had seen her in some months. It had taken a number of weeks before the Capitol's camera crews finally stopped wandering around, filming everything. Getting so much attention was sure to strain the nerves a little bit. Eagan had been on edge, himself.

Something about Willow's response was more powerful, though. She had told him about growing up in District 13, about the severe regimentation required of every person. District 12 was much more relaxed and easy-going. Maybe she had worried the Capitol wouldn't approve of the clutter and disorganization in the town. It didn't matter now; they had left a few days earlier.

The bell on the front door clanked. Eagan set the boot down, expecting Fiona to run in for a hug. Instead, a gruff voice called out, "Anybody back there?"

"Be with you in a minute," Eagan called back. He tried to place the voice as he wiped his hands on a rag. That sealant could dry skin out something fierce. It was pretty toxic stuff. He couldn't picture a face or hear a name for the graveled voice. But then, it could just be grizzled from a bad case of black cough.

Eagan stepped around a few shelves of supplies and shoes, past a basket full of scraps too small to use, and through the doorway that separated the workroom from the store. He rubbed his hands together as he looked at the patron. Peacekeeper in his off-duties, older though. "I'm sorry. I can't buy any shoes right now. Got way more than I need, actually."

Peacekeepers never bought Eagan's footwear. They ordered their regulation gear from the Capitol, and sometimes sold the old stuff to the stores. Most of it was barely used.

"I'm not here to sell. I'm here to buy some boots."

"Buy?" Eagan squinted.

"You the proprietor?" The Peacekeeper set a palm on the counter.

"Yeah, I own the place. Ever since my father passed." Eagan shifted his weight between his feet. Why would a Peacekeeper want to buy boots rather than ordering them?

"I was told to come see you." He reached a hand out to shake Eagan's, "Volente Covas."

"Oh," the men shook hands. "Eagan Westfall."

Covas softened his voice a touch, "I hear you have to be careful in the mines. The government boots may not cut it for crawling a few miles down."

Peacekeepers didn't work in the mines. They relied on 12's shift-managers to drive the crews. "Yeah, that seems about right. You'll be going into the mines then?"

"Only where it's safe."

Eagan grimaced, "It's never safe in the mines."

"There're always a few safe places. Most people don't know where they are." Covas leaned forward and patted the wooden counter, soft as a feather.

Covas waited for a reply, but Eagan had no idea what to say. He glanced between Covas and the counter where Covas' hands rested. Finally, he managed, "Haven't been in the mines, myself."

"But you've been here," Covas tapped the counter one more time. "And it's been safe."

Silence dragged on again, stretching seconds into a minute. Eagan constructed his reply slowly, careful to leave himself a way out. "It's been safe so far… The Peacekeepers leave me alone to do my work…" He folded his arms and leaned back, "How do I know I can trust you?" It was a risk, but someone would have to break the ice with the newest member of the Underground.

"You can't, and that's the problem we have all over this country, isn't it?"

"One of the problems, yes." Eagan trusted the people who had told Willow this man would be coming to the district. He couldn't trust Covas, himself, yet.

Covas shrugged, "We'll work on that. I'm just here to introduce myself, for now." He straightened his back and waved an arm over the shop. "Oh, and buy those boots."

The electricity was on more often now, part of the gifts the Capitol sent to District 12 for producing the most recent Hunger Games victors. It was off for the moment, the shelves of footwear illuminated by sunlight from the front windows.

Eagan relented and showed Covas a pair of the nicest work boots he carried: steel toes, waterproof, leather hide, laces up half the calf to keep the dirt and grime out of the socks, special soles for extra grip on stone.

There were much nicer boots out there, carbon fiber reinforced, insulated, extra padding, temperature controlled. No one could afford them, so he never carried them. Covas turned down the offer for a special order, settling for Eagan's most expensive pair. He tried on a pair for himself and gave Eagan the dimensions for another pair.

"So why are you going into the mines?" Eagan wrapped the boots up in two paper packages, tying them closed with twine. "Peacekeepers don't go into the mines."

"This Peacekeeper does. The Capitol is looking hard at your district, Eagan. I'm their eyes now, and I plan to give them a good show."

Not quite sure why, Eagan began to feel that this man was trustworthy, that he had 13's confidence for a reason. He began to wonder what this Peacekeeper had done to have such favor with the Capitol, while being so useful to the Underground. Covas was clearly at ease, totally comfortable with the precarious situation in Panem. Eagan ventured to trust Covas, like putting the toes of one foot on a bridge you can't be sure about, "What should the rest of us be doing?"

"The only thing that we can do is distract Snow and bring the Everdeen girl into the fold."

"Into the fold…" Eagan began. The paper crunched under his fingers as he considered the statement.

"She needs to have some level of understanding about her value to the districts now, to a rebellion."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It's just…" He looked at the receipt pad for a minute. "Haymitch is pretty sure that's a bad idea."

Covas stared, eyes masked of his thoughts.

"Have you met him yet? Haymitch Abernathy?"

"No, I've been orienting myself to the district. You're the first member I've contacted directly."

Willow had mentioned meeting Covas in passing. To risk this sort of conversation in the Justice Building was too dangerous though. Eagan was to be Covas' primary contact to the local Underground. "Well, Haymitch says she won't be receptive to anything we might plan."

"We'll see. You'd better write up the bill for me."

"Yeah, alright." Eagan leaned over and jotted down the model numbers for each pair of boots, jotting in the prices and totaling the sale up. "By the way, I heard you upset Cray."

Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, Covas guessed right, "Did your wife tell you that?"

Eagan acknowledged the question with a nod. "He fired off some calls to the Capitol about you."

"I expect he did." The reply was frank, unconcerned.

"You shouldn't be stirring up the pot here. Cray's got his sleazy side, but at least he lets people do what they have to to eat." Eagan tore the receipt from the pad and handed a carbon copy to the Peacekeeper.

"Things aren't so simple as getting by until the rebellion takes off, Eagan." Covas counted out enough money to pay for the boots, hanging on to the bills as he spoke. "Snow doesn't like Cray. In fact, the only reason Cray's still around is the Commandant stood up for him."

Eagan opened up a cashbox that served as a register and drew out a few coins for change. "Why would the Commandant care about Cray?" He began to realize Covas knew far more than anyone he had ever talked to. After long years of service for the Capitol and the Underground, he had developed a broad network of contacts.

"Because he knows that 12 is no threat at all; it'd be a waste to change out the guard here. Snow knows that too, except his only answer to a threat is to kill it. Of course, he can't kill the Everdeen girl; she's too popular. So he wants to tighten up the district, show her that challenging the Gamemakers was a mistake."

"Snow wants to scare Katniss Everdeen and…?"

"Snow wants to scare everyone. The anti-Capitolism in the districts is running pretty hot." Covas moved forward to pick up the packages. "But the Commandant has to worry about personnel count. His budget is pretty tight keeping the other districts in check. He wants to leave 12 alone, as it is."

"Wait a minute!" Eagan griped. "Why would you make Cray out to be incompetent then? Isn't that just playing into what Snow wants? Now he's going to force the Commandant to shakeup the Peacekeepers anyway."

Face crumpling in a frown, the strongest response Eagan had seen from the man, Covas shook his head, "You don't understand. Broadmark and I _are_ the shakeup. That was the point. We sent Cray running to the Commandant with his tail tucked. He'll lick his wounds and meanwhile the Capitol thinks they've got 12's Peacekeepers back in line."

Eagan bit his upper lip. It was quite a risk, but then again, two weeks had gone by and Cray was still the Head Peacekeeper in 12. If he questioned Covas any more, he could risk damaging their working relationship before they had a chance to collaborate. "What level of contact do you have with the Underground?"

The Peacekeeper picked up the two packages by the ties. "Minimal. It's going to be tough in such a small district."

"It's good that we're a distraction then, right?"

"Not quite. We may still need the Everdeen girl to rally the districts."

They arranged a system of contact; if the Underground wanted to meet with Covas, Willow could mention a call from someone named Harris (Eagan didn't know if it was a real person or not), and if Covas wanted to meet with anyone, he would come to the shop for socks. He was going to keep Broadmark on a wild-goose chase to find out how the Reaping was rigged. Covas assured Eagan twice that it wouldn't get back to Madge Undersee.

As he moved through the front door, Covas said, "Next week, I want to meet with you, your wife, and Haymitch."

Eagan could only say "Okay" before the door was closed again.

Within a few minutes, his children arrived home from school, Eagan junior immediately setting to work on a pair of shoes a friend had asked to have repaired. It was a boy from the Seam and they couldn't afford to pay for the work, so Eagan let his son be generous.

Fiona spent the time telling her father about school, about the homework she had been given, and the extra food in the cafeteria. The kids from the Seam were all astonished by the victory gifts from the Capitol. That wasn't why Eagan had helped arrange the Reaping, although it didn't hurt.

Something about Covas was bothering him. He was distracted enough that Fiona tired of his distant replies; she went outside to find some of her friends. Eagan sat down and lost himself in thoughts and work.

He had hardly noticed it had darkened outside when Eagan junior asked when they were going to close. The summer days were shortening, the season drawing to an end. Eagan hung the sign, locked the door, and the pair walked home.

Willow had expected them a little earlier; it had been his turn to cook dinner. Neither of them was very good at cooking, although his efforts were generally more successful than hers. 13 apparently didn't train anyone for anything unless it was to be their sole duty in life. As they worked up a passable dish of steamed vegetables and scrap meat, Eagan related the meeting with Covas to his wife.

She listened without so much as a sigh of response, taking in his encounter exactly how he described it. When he finished, the boiling water popped and hissed, filling the quiet kitchen with savory steam. Eagan added a few flicks of turmeric.

"I dunno, Willy."

"What?" She asked.

"Just… Something about Covas… Kept me off kilter, somehow."

Willow smiled. "Eagan, that's what he's done for years. That's how he operates."

"I know, but it was weird. I'm not used to being so…"

"Outmatched?" The word wasn't the one he was grasping for. Unfortunately, it fit well. Still, it didn't help that Willow was so plain about it. Years ago, he had grown used to many of her quirks, aspects of her personality from 13 she had never changed. Surely, she knew to not poke fun at something that bothered him this much, right? Apparently not.

She continued, "It doesn't matter. He's subordinate to us."

Eagan turned the contents of the pot slowly with a wooden spoon. "How do you figure?"

"He left all his contacts with Thirteen back in Eleven. He spent so much time there, the only resources he has left are only good for intel from the Capitol. He can't get orders from the Underground now, except through me."

"You think you can handle him?"

"We both can." Willow saw the doubt on his tightened lips. "Remember, Eagan; he's on our side."

"He may demand to have direct access to Thirteen."

She shrugged, putting on mitts to pick up the dinner. "Too bad. Thirteen sets the rules, and Twelve's part is mostly done for now."

Covas thought otherwise, Eagan knew. He wondered whether the new man would try to take control of the Underground. He was a key player. Eagan decided to ignore that as the family sat down to a dinner by candlelight. No electricity for most evenings now that the celebrations were over.

The meeting with Haymitch probably wouldn't go well. Nothing could draw Haymitch out of the bottle, not the victory, not the advancement of the rebellion, and certainly not a double-agent from the Capitol.

Haymitch was Katniss' mentor. It would be up to him to guide her, get her to be the rallying symbol for the Underground, and for the common subject too. And Haymitch had abandoned the idea of Katniss cooperating. In fact, since returning home, Haymitch had abandoned all things, left behind the District for the world of spirits.

Maybe 12 wasn't in the clear yet. If Snow and the Commandant were both watching how the little ants crawled around their coal seam, then Eagan could be sure the balance wouldn't be easy to maintain; subversion and concealment. A gnawing ache weighed into his stomach, an impending dread.

He had come to peace with the evil that the rigged Reaping was. It was a necessary one, if a horrible act in any case. It had nearly destroyed Madge, the way her mother was devastated by the loss of a twin sister to the Hunger Games. Eagan had learned to use those demons, and he had not needed them for several months. Soon, they may come again, to fight the demons from the Capitol.


	4. Chapter 4

4 Tugging the Weave

Groans and creaks grumbled from the chair as Covas leaned back, staring at Cray without the slightest hint of concern for what the Head Peacekeeper was saying. Let the man speak his peace, and then pick your words carefully, he told himself. Pretty soon, Mayor Undersee would be in here as well, complaining about the same thing, although the mayor would certainly use more tact than this aging gripe.

Cray's thin hair looked waxy in the afternoon sunlight streaming from the window. His skin was flustered, a stain of blotchy red, lips thin and snapping out every angry consonant. Covas had expected all this, even wondered why it had taken almost a month to arrive. Broadmark had been questioning everyone who worked in the Justice Building, looking to find how the entries for the Reaping had been replaced between the time Effie Trinket had inspected them and when they had been carried out.

No one enjoyed being interrogated, Peacekeepers least of all. Covas understood. Even in 12, where some Peacekeepers were friendly with the locals, members of the Corps still held themselves up as unique, important, above the common folk.

Nearly half of those who worked in the Justice Building were Peacekeepers, and Broadmark assumed that anyone could be guilty. He would ask penetrating questions constructed to trap his subjects and confuse them, maybe even get them to confess something on accident. Plenty of the men had complained to superior officers, and now here was Cray, with his own interrogation scheduled only a few days out.

In the weeks Covas had spent in 12, he had learned only two important things about the Head Peacekeeper; his loyalty to the Capitol was exceeded by a fondness for drink and starving young girls. This set him on edge, because the monthly packages from the Capitol fed most of those young girls enough, they didn't have to sell evenings with Peacekeepers to stay alive. And now Cray was to be treated as a suspect. Broadmark couldn't possibly think Cray was suspect. The Lieutenant was just thorough, and so no one was exempted.

"What are we to do? Put everything on hold while you two peek in every cupboard? Break into every locker?" Cray paused a moment to wipe a handkerchief across his forehead. When he resumed, his tone finally dropped out of fury, "I've high mind to ban that kid from interrogating any more Peacekeepers."

Covas took a few breaths before he moved, old chair moaning as he leaned forward to put his elbows on his desk. "I understand this is an enormous hassle, and I agree that it's unnecessary. Unfortunately, the Capitol has demanded a full and complete investigation." He watched Cray shake his head again. "The Reaping was rigged. We know that for certain, and we have to find out how that happened."

"But these interrogations are more than a headache, Captain. Your Lieutenant is wreaking havoc with his methods."

"He was trained for this, and he's following standard procedure. He'll be through with the Peacekeepers soon enough and on to the locals." Covas tried to soothe with his voice. He had not yet acknowledged that Cray held a superior rank, because he didn't answer to the Head Peacekeeper.

"So foolish though… The idea of a Peacekeeper conspiring in such a thing. Why didn't he start with the locals anyway?"

Covas waited a moment, weaving his fingers together and leaning over them a little, hesitating to say what had to be said. "Because your men are suppose to stand guard and... keep things like that from happening."

He could see Cray's jaw muscles grinding his teeth. The thoughts going through Cray's mind were obvious. That's why Covas was placed here, outside of Cray's control. Commandant Filo was a hair's breadth away from replacing 12's Head Peacekeeper. And Covas began to wonder something deeper; perhaps Cray was worried that a Peacekeeper would be found guilty, rightly or not. Such a conviction would certainly lead to his being replaced as well. Snow was merciless in matters of absolute control.

"You tell your lieutenant—"

"I will make sure _he_ does _his_ job." Covas let the words hang like a noose between them, his unblinking eyes centered on the Head Peacekeeper. No matter what, he had to get Cray to tighten a few things in the district, or else Snow would have his way and 12 would end up like 11; all rules cruelly enforced, all people bitterly abused, all hope crushed.

After thirty seconds, with a frustrated sigh, the Head Peacekeeper left, office door swinging closed behind him. Covas reworked the logic in his mind. The Everdeen girl might still have to rally the districts during the Victory Tour. He would rather implore her personally, convince her it was the right risk to take, as opposed to letting her home town become a hellhole of Capitol violence. That would make it impossible for the Underground to impact what goes on.

A short rap on the door glass announced Abel Broadmark before he let himself in. "Captain, I think we have something." He handed a printed report to Covas and sat down in a rigid folding chair to wait while the report was read.

Covas skimmed the document, noting that it was prepared in official format, prepared specifically for delivery to the Capitol. The four pages turned quickly, because most of the information was no surprise to the captain.

"Did you already send this to Intel?"

Broadmark shook his head, his hands squeezed together in excitement. The lieutenant still had to learn a little about patience. "I thought you might want to add your name to it, sir. A lot of the information in there came from your work."

Covas tapped his front teeth together as he thought. Yes, much of this report had come from him, and he had been slow to relay anything to the Intelligence division of the Corps. "What about this?" He held up the last page. "Where did you get this?"

"One of your contacts flagged me down, asked me to tell you about it." Broadmark didn't address his superior officer properly and Covas let it go. The point was to keep him under control. Bringing information instead of sending it right to the Capitol was exactly what Covas wanted from his subordinate.

During the previous weeks, Covas had developed a network of a few Capitol loyalists who would relay information to him. It wasn't easy, finding people who wanted to maintain the status quo. There were a few though, and they too would work unwittingly for the Underground, except when they flag down Broadmark and use him as a messenger.

In years past, that sort of bad timing would infuriate Covas and he would have struggled to keep himself in check. Emotions were so unproductive, and he didn't regret discarding his; not for one second. He still felt them, almost like they were off in some part of himself he no longer accessed.

"Who was it?"

"He said his name was Jordi."

"Ah," that would be Jordan Swisner. "And he claims to have seen this?"

"Swears by it. He had just bought a pound of coal and was carrying it home through the Seam when he saw Gale Hawthorne and Katniss Everdeen crawling under the fence, saw it past some trees and a few houses. And then they kissed."

When Covas didn't respond right away, his eyes poring over the freshly-printed paper, Broadmark insisted, "The Capitol still thinks that Gale is her cousin and we've known that's not true almost since we got here! This report really should go to Intel right away."

Covas spoke from deep behind the recesses of his thoughts, "Let's not be too hasty. I may have some… things of my own to add to the report before we send it off." Now the lieutenant held silent as the captain tried to clear the air. "Thank you for preparing it, Abel. This is an excellent summary of our observations of Katniss."

"You don't think we should send it right away?" Broadmark's voice was stuttered with confusion. "We've hardly sent anything to Intel so far."

"Because we hardly know anything." Covas set the report down and curled one side of his mouth into a grin, "I mean, she kissed a boy. Not exactly against the law." He knew Snow would make it into a crime, that he would use anything to control everyone. That wasn't the point, though. "It's not like we caught her plotting a takeover of the Justice Building with known subversives." He decided to change the subject. "How's the Reaping investigation coming?"

Broadmark's face washed over with frustration, "Slow. Most of the Peacekeepers check out, but I get the impression a few are hiding something. What that is? I don't know." He raised his eyes to meet the captain's. "Was that Cray who was in here a bit ago?"

Covas nodded, "I think he still doesn't like us… I told him too bad."

A smile weaved Broadmark's face into a handsome image. He really was a picture of the Capitol's best genetic engineering. "I guess it's us against them."

"Just the same, I doubt any Peacekeepers are involved." Covas picked up a pen and began jotting down notes in the margins of the report. "Try not to read too much into the Peacekeepers. They're just not used to being treated this way, especially here in Twelve."

"Sir."

"Dismissed, lieutenant."

After Broadmark left, Covas busied himself with the report, carefully editing a few details out and muddling several others in. He had to make sure the only pipeline between Intelligence and the investigation came through him. If the lieutenant took it upon himself to file reports directly, then the Underground would have lost Covas as the firewall against the Capitol's burning stare.

He had the notes prepared and finished, typing up a new report by the time to leave. The Underground was meeting tonight in the shoe shop's workroom. Not all of the members, but the major players.

Covas stopped by his quarters and changed into clothes that could pass as an expensive, business-class outfit. That would be fine. If he was caught lurking around the business district, he could claim to be meeting a contact, and he wouldn't even have to lie.

The night air was cool. Fall had begun to turn the leaves to yellows and reds. On the flat plains of 11, the fall was harsh, brutal, busy, and always held the stench of death. Harvest season was hard on everyone, even Peacekeepers. Here in 12, the rolling foothills were a collage of beautiful colors. Even the fluffy green trees had been pleasant to see, and Covas anticipated an astounding display for the upcoming season.

He ducked through several alleys and found the rear entrance to the shoe shop guarded by a man smoking tobacco from an ancient mahogany pipe. He had not met Lorris yet and curt nods introduced the men. Covas was the last to arrive.

Inside, the electricity was off again, a few candles rested in holders around the room, the light just sufficient to avoid stubbing toes on crates and shelves. Covas peered around the room. Willow and Eagan sat on a work table across from Haymitch, his fingers clenched around a flask, though he had no trouble holding purchase on his stool. Then there was Lorris who followed Covas in.

Four people; that was the size of the Underground in 12. Willow had impressed Covas each time they had exchanged a few words. She was a professional. Eagan was too easy to put off his game. Covas immediately assessed Haymitch as a useless drunk, and this Lorris fellow wasn't all that useful, considering he was just a miner. Covas sat in a chair near the group and Lorris leaned against a shelf opposite.

Eagan began, "All right, let's make this quick." He made rapid introductions, avoiding all flourish. "Now, since Vol called this meeting, I think we should let him lead off."

Everyone turned toward Covas. "None of you know me yet. You may not feel like you can trust me..." he paused and clasped his hands together for effect. "If you haven't heard yet, you soon will. I might as well tell you; I had a member of the Underground executed only a few months ago. The simple truth is, he wouldn't take orders and he tried to do things on his own. He killed some Peacekeepers, got caught, and I had him executed before he could give away what little he knew."

Haymitch was squinting like even the candles were too bright for him. Lorris puffed away, his bushy eyebrows hidden behind the cloud. The Westfalls weren't surprised by any of it. Covas continued, "I have dedicated my _life_ to making the rebellion happen, and we're going to be integral parts in bringing it about." He noted, those words brought a wry grin to Haymitch' face. The victor drowned the smile in another nip from the flask.

"To do that, we have two primary objectives; first, we have to keep Snow distracted as much as possible from the other districts; and second, the Everdeen girl needs to be coached on what to say during the Victory Tour."

"Pah!" Haymitch spat. "Right."

"That's where you come in, Mr. Abernathy. You'll have to be careful how much you tell her and how you go about it—"

"Not gonna happen," his sandy hair was crusty, badly needing a shower. It hung stiff as he shook his head.

"I realize it's going to be difficult—"

"Not difficult, Volente… Impossible. Can't be done, get it?"

Covas would have to fight this battle out with everything in him. "It can be done, and you will _have _to do it. Do you understand me?" His words were stern, not growled; confident, not angry. It was never easy arguing with a drunkard.

"Wait a minute," Willow's feminine voice broke the sparring. "Why is it so necessary, Vol? Isn't her image going to be enough?"

"No, it won't. People will need to remember that she challenged authority, beat the Capitol, and lives to tell about it." He pointed out. "She can't be remembered for being lovable. She has to be remembered for rebellion."

Smoke curled from Lorris' mouth as his deep voice rumbled, "If she does anything more rebellious, Snow'll just kill her."

"He can't kill her. She's too popular in the Capitol," said Willow.

Eagan added, "Right but he can kill anyone else that means anything to her, Gale Hawthorne or Madge or her sister."

"And that's why it won't work," Haymitch muttered.

Covas turned back to the drunk, "What do you mean?"

It took a few seconds for Haymitch to collect himself with a prepared reply. "None of you have met Katniss. I have. I know who she is..." He turned to the Westfalls, "You people spent so much time picking her out for the Reaping, you should've seen it. She's a great survivor and a perfect symbol against the Capitol, but she's not going to stand up against them when they can kill anyone she cares about.

"She volunteered to die for Primrose, something you banked on. But now you want her to put Primrose in the Snow's crosshairs, just to encourage complete strangers to go to war against the Capitol?" Haymitch shook his head in spite and nursed another shot from the flask. "Not what a survivor does."

He raised the flask again and then added, "Besides, I coached her before her interviews and she's terrible at pre-packaged acts. The only thing she's good at is spur-of-the-moment... improv... Stuff based on her emotions."

The candles flickered as the room became quiet. Shadows shuddered with the mediocre lighting. Covas considered what Haymitch had said and tried again, one more time this evening. "I believe it would be better if she had an inkling of what was going on, of how much is riding on the portrayal she will make in public in a few months."

Haymitch began to protest once more, when Willow cut him off, "Maybe this is a decision we ought to consider for a week or two before we decide how to proceed."

That didn't rest well with anyone. Yet, it was a compromise that suited everyone fine, since the Victory Tour was still months away. Willow brought up a different subject, "Volente, what's going on with these interrogations?"

Covas leaned back and relaxed a little. He lifted one leg and rested his ankle on his other knee. "My lieutenant, Abel Broadmark, has specific orders to investigate the Reaping, so he's interviewing everyone who works at the Justice Building." Covas slowed his words down and cleared his throat. "It's a closely-guarded secret. The… ah… Snow knows the Reaping was set up."

Someone, he couldn't see who in the candlelight, drew in a short gasp. Eagan protested, "Wait a second! How could they know that? We had everything covered, didn't we?"

"Everything went off without a hitch," Willow mused, rubbing her fingers against her chin. "How could they have found out?"

"I don't know the details of whatever plan you had. I can tell you, though, something went wrong. I was to dispose of the fake entries after they were mailed to me. The entries that arrived were the real ones."

"So that means…" Eagan drifted off for a moment. "I guess that explains why Madge was so worried."

Willow agreed and added, "She should be safe, though." She turned to Covas, "That's why we used her, the mayor's daughter; so it couldn't get back to anyone working in the Justice Building."

"I see. She had access, and wouldn't show up on any official registry." It made sense to Covas. If he were to be honest, he didn't care what happened as a result from the Reaping investigation. So long as the rebellion could be jump-started, whatever happened to the mayor's daughter wasn't his concern. He'd try to keep Broadmark from the truth, no matter what. Yet, it wasn't Madge Undersee that the Underground needed, not anymore.

"This Peacekeeper will be interrogating me, then?" Willow asked matter-of-factly.

"He will, and he's tough." Covas offered the only advice that would help her against Broadmark's invasive questioning. "If you have to act, act confused. The easier you are to confuse, the sooner you're out of there."

Eagan brought the meeting to a close, saying that they had to get home to the kids. Covas exchanged handshakes with Lorris and tried to with Haymitch, only receiving a sneer in response. And then he was back out into the night, stars twinkling in the atmosphere.

Already planning the next meeting, a week or two away, he tried to formulate a plan. Willow was already on his side, he suspected. She knew that 13 wanted Katniss brought in. Eagan wouldn't be hard to convince, between his wife and Covas. Lorris was inconsequential; his task was to prepare the miners for the eventual rebellion in 12.

Haymitch was going to be the tough one to convince. He was dead set against training the Everdeen girl. Covas was used to finding someone's weakness and using it against them. Haymitch was clearly an alcoholic, but that wasn't his weakness. Sobriety was.


	5. Chapter 5

5 Trust Me...

Her hair bothered her. Even after spending a decade having longer hair, Willow still let it annoy her, the effort it took to maintain it. Such an enormous waste of time… She brushed through the hair, snapping through the few tangles that had formed overnight. It was shoulder-length, full and soft when she could spare a few days' pay for a little shampoo.

In District 13, she had been allowed to cut her hair at the neck and keep it back with a headband. That was much better. It was lighter, dried faster, and didn't need daily attention. But in 12, all the women let their hair grow long. They kept it in braids or tails of various sorts. Or some of the women even let their hair fall where it grew, garlanding their faces in dark silks or light wisps.

Eagan liked it too, and she didn't mind pleasing him, they were married after all. He had spent the better part of the relationship head-over-heels for her, and Willow knew her own love for Eagan had grown considerably. And still, at the core of their relationship, the reason for their closeness, was not love. It was duty to District 13 that drove her, and by extension, responsibility to the Underground.

Willow set the brush down and pushed her hair back, working the strands into a bun, when Eagan slipped in to the room. "Kids off to school?" she asked.

"Mmhmm." Eagan replied settling an arm around her stomach. He waited until she finished securing her hair and then he kissed her neck. "We have a few minutes, you know."

She twisted away from the embrace, "Not right now. I'm trying to think."

"You're always thinking," Eagan smiled wryly. "What is it this time?"

"I'm wondering whether we made a mistake."

Eagan leaned against the wall and asked her to elaborate. She heard didn't always comply when he asked for more information. Today she would. "It took me a couple of weeks to convince District Thirteen that we couldn't bring Katniss into the plans just yet."

"Yeah, because Thirteen doesn't listen to anyone who lives elsewhere."

Willow frowned and went on, "Maybe we should have pressed Haymitch harder. I mean, we can't afford for her to slip up and break apart the resistance."

"Haymitch says Katniss' best when she's herself."

She nodded, "I know."

He waited a few seconds to see if Willow would vent more of her thoughts. She rarely did, even in the comfort of their home, where they made frequent checks for any Capitol espionage. "What did the Capitol say about Covas wanting to bring her in?"

"I haven't told them, yet."

Willow moved into the operator's station leaving her jacket on the peg. She was responsible for directing telephone calls from other districts to the proper locations; the mining department over at the Seam, the Peacekeepers, the mayor's office or house… Sometimes the people calling would already know the number for those they were trying to reach, such as when Cinna would call the Everdeen household directly. Willow was the only operator in District 12 because there wasn't all that much phone traffic to handle.

The best part about the job, the one reason she had sought it out; if she was careful, she could call a handler in District 13 and without concern that she could be caught. It was a huge step forward from several years earlier when someone from 13 had to sneak into the district to deliver and accept communications. She settled behind the desk and picked up the headset. There was only one message on the machine, a request that a Peacekeeper call his home as soon as possible. Willow scribbled the message down and then called the barracks officer to relay it.

Almost as soon as she disconnected the call, another came through. The voice on the other end of the line was strong, smooth, and confident. "Hello, Mrs. Westfall. I am Lieutenant Broadmark. Could you come to room one-oh-nine, please." It wasn't a request.

She knew his name, had been expecting this. "I just now got in to work, lieutenant. Can it wait?"

"No, it can't. Come immediately, Mrs. Westfall." The line clicked dead.

So this is it, Willow thought. He's certainly not going to mess around. She pulled off the headset and laid it on the desk, taking a deep breath. It had been twenty full years since she had been through the psychological courses designed to prepare agents for intense interrogation. Of course, this was just a questioning and not even a targeted one. But it seemed so great, the divide between her now and those days when the training had given her absolute confidence.

The corridors were quiet as she made her way there. Not much went on in District 12, and even less administration was needed. Peacekeepers made up the bulk of those who worked in the Justice Building.

Willow arrived at the room and looked through the door, seeing Abel Broadmark sitting at a well-used table. She checked once more to make sure her back was straight before entering, her shoes thudding softly against the carpet. The room was lavish with expensive amenities: several cushioned chairs, a worn couch, oak panels for walls, and even a dusty chandelier.

Broadmark closed a file and stood. Without speaking a word, he gestured for her to sit down, back to the couch and window, facing the table and the door. Willow sat, settling her hands into her lap, willing her fingers to rest. Broadmark pulled the door closed and stood behind his own chair, resting his elbows on the back, slumping forward, imposing himself toward her as a man of power. He was attractive, in a frightening sort of way. His face was smooth, rounded by smooth youthfulness, lacking the slightest wrinkle of time.

"Mrs. Westfall, it's in your best interests to be honest today." He drew in a slow breath, "I'll have the truth from your own mouth, no matter how much time it takes." Broadmark's eyes bore into her own. "Do you understand me?"

His adolescence was a mask, part of the foil he used to skewer his targets. Covas was right. Broadmark was precise, thorough, and dangerous. Willow decided to get the confusion subject rolling right away. "Yes, I do understand. Have I done something wrong?"

The Peacekeeper ignored her question, pulling out his chair and sitting down. "You have worked here for six years, is that correct?"

She nodded, "That sounds about right."

"Before then, you were… what?"

"A mother," she filled in the blank. "And I helped my husband with his business."

"The shoe shop." Broadmark took down cryptic, shorthand notes of her response.

"Right." She squinted, trying to make out something useful on the pad. Impossible.

"If he does enough business to provide for the family, why did you go to work?"

Willow wrinkled her nose at the question. "I was already working, but there's only so much money you can make on shoes in this market." Wait, she caught herself. Don't go down that path. "Besides, we need some time apart each day, my husband and I."

Broadmark actually let a faint nod through his composure. "Trouble at home then."

"No, no. Not trouble. Good things come in small doses, Lieutenant. A husband and wife can't spend every single minute together."

"You have children, do you not?" Broadmark leaned his pen her way.

She rubbed her fingers together and felt her palms dry. No panic yet. "We do. Eagan Junior is sixteen and Fiona will be nine next week."

A few more lines found their way onto his page before Broadmark continued, "That would make your youngest three at the time you got your job here." He looked to Willow as she nodded. "So, you waited until you could leave the kids in the shoe shop and then took off to get away from everyone."

She had prepared herself for this. He was trying to get under her skin. "It was a mutual decision between my husband and me." Resisting the urge to massage the annoyance out of her hands, she leaned back. "Besides, the position had just become available and it seemed like a nicer job than the other options."

"And what were those, the other options?"

"Mine work, or at least work in the coal yards." She snapped the words at him. Being from the Capitol, he wouldn't understand that there were never good jobs available. People held onto those until they died or couldn't work them anymore because of age and infirmity. Broadmark probably had many options besides becoming a Peacekeeper. District 12's last telephone operator was in his eighties when he died.

Broadmark replied, "Well, that wouldn't be very feminine, would it?"

She defended herself, "I was very fortunate to get this job. All of the coal work is hard, particularly on the women who have to do it to feed their families."

"Fortunate, ah." His pen worked away on the page for a moment. "Now, something's odd about your personnel file. Everyone who works in this building has their record thoroughly reviewed before their application is considered. Frankly, you should have been red-flagged."

Willow raised her eyebrows at the statement, trying to look shocked. "For what?"

"The archives only have records back to your first home, nothing before that."

"Oh, well, that's easy to explain." She drew her hands up onto the desk and smiled sweetly. "There was a fire in the archives sometime back then. A lot of records were destroyed. The District Clerk mentioned it when I interviewed. He said the mayor told him not to bother about my birth papers and everything."

Broadmark narrowed his eyes, "Who were your parents?"

"My mother died giving birth to me; I never knew her." Willow had told so many people these stories, she almost began to believe them. If she didn't have regular contact with 13, she just might. "My dad died of the black lung the year after I graduated from high school."

"And what happened to his file?" Broadmark inquired.

"Burned up too, I guess."

"Perhaps…" He tapped the pen against the pad and looked at her, gazing to find a hesitation in her eyes, waiting for the lie to stew into sweat, fidgets, and a fluttering heartbeat. Willow held her ground, knowing he had nothing. "Awfully strange that all proof of your existence would just... vanish, isn't it?"

It was a trap. If she admitted that it was strange, he'd pull harder, hoping the whole strip of wallpaper would come away and reveal the hidden passage. If she said it wasn't strange at all, it would seem like she was trying to paste the loose corner back into place. "I dunno. Is it?"

He shrugged slowly as he talked to emphasize his position, "The whole point of keeping records is to be able to prove things, isn't it? As it happens, the only records I have are your grades from high school."

Those were fakes. Willow had broken into the school, herself, soon after arriving in the district to plant them. After all those years, she never thought they would have been found. Nothing seemed helpful to say, so she tried to defuse the tension. She pulled her hands back into her lap and grinned, "I guess they don't speak too highly of me though."

"Oh, you did fine, considering the schools here." Broadmark seemed to set aside the subject of her files. "Several months ago, District 12 had a Reaping. Were you there?"

"Yes, of course. Everyone was there. And it was something too!" She lit her eyes and beamed a smile of genuine pride. "No one thought either of our tributes would win. Isn't it great that they both did?" Willow wondered how far she could take the hometown pride. Deep inside, a riot of laughter bubbled; she was getting to throw the Underground's first blow against the Capitol in Broadmark's face. One word came to her mind: delicious.

Broadmark cut off the nostalgia of the moment, "Did you go into the Justice Building on Reaping day?"

"No, a crew from the Capitol took over the communications system for the whole week of the Reaping. They do every Reaping. I have that whole week off every year."

"And you didn't come in at all?"

She hadn't, had made a point to stay away. With Madge Undersee set to make the switches, Willow knew it was a bad idea to go anywhere near the building. "No, I spent a lot of time catching up with friends and playing with the children."

Those narrow eyes dissected her response again, catching every quirk of her face. Was her response natural? Was she manufacturing what she had done? Did she betray any hint of that dishonesty Broadmark had warned her about?

If she was to act confused, she had only been confused about why she was here. Broadmark hadn't told her what this interrogation was about, didn't have to. She didn't have a legal right to know why the Peacekeepers did what they did. Acting confused wasn't going to work, because she wasn't confused about this person she was supposed to be, this person she had become in the years gone past.

The seconds clocked into a minute and then almost two. Broadmark sifted through the folder again and flipped through a few pages on his notepad, the shorthand a code Willow couldn't decipher with only sparing glances. She took a deep breath and looked around the room, running her fingers through her hair, feelings its texture, seeing the light shine off the strands in the corner of her eye. And she caught something else.

Broadmark had looked her way, not with those professional, detective's eyes; with the eyes of a young man gazing at a pleasant image. For that moment, his eyes whispered a craving that most young men learn to control over time. Suddenly, Willow was glad she had worn her tight-fitting blouse and real lipstick. She had used her looks in service of the Underground in the past. That she remained beautiful was no mystery to her.

Broadmark caught his indiscretion, noticing when the corners of her mouth curled upward. He looked back to his notes, somewhat flustered. "Is there anything more, lieutenant?" Willow asked. She didn't need to add any lure into her voice. Broadmark was a young man who had so denied himself the normal passions of youth. The sight of her, his abandonment of strict method, the embarrassment of being caught looking; those were enough.

"Uhm, no, ma'am. I believe that's all for now. If-" He cleared his throat and locked his eyes onto hers. "If I have any more questions, I will get in touch with you." Immediately the flush came back to his cheeks. His authority was drained, the wild animal in him fought to be uncaged. "I mean… uh. If there… uh."

It had worked. Willow had freed herself from the interrogation with the drift of a finger through her hair. She decided to cut him some slack and leave as soon as possible. "It's okay, lieutenant. It's not every day a mother of two gets a compliment on her looks."

At one time, it would have enraged Willow to be so objectified, to be viewed as a piece of flesh, a set of curves and nothing more. She already despised Broadmark, so it didn't seem very consequential to let this bother her. Everyone who worked in the Justice Building was older, so this hadn't come up very often. She had used flattery on the District Clerk, trying to get the job, although she never knew if that was why the she had it. The Clerk didn't seem to pay attention.

Now, in this room, as Willow stood and passed Broadmark to the door, she felt only the exhilaration of victory. The lieutenant was one of the best the Peacekeepers had and she had defeated him easily. Later on, she would sort out the emotions that she disallowed right now.

Back in the hallway, her shoes clicked on the tile as she strode with confidence. Her smile was genuine when she passed the Mayor's assistant at an intersection of passages. It wasn't true, she realized; what she had said to Broadmark. Eagan frequently complimented his wife on her beauty, something a good husband never failed to do.

She began to wonder how much of the interrogation she should tell Eagan. Certainly Broadmark would tell Covas about his etiquette slipup, would he? No, the young man's lust would remain a secret. This was one of those things she would keep from her husband out of a sense of duty to the Underground.

Eagan wouldn't be jealous. He might even get a kick out of how she used it against the interrogator. Still, it wasn't necessary to cloud his mind with the truth. He was used to Willow keeping some things to herself. After all, she was highest-ranking member of 12's Underground. It was her prerogative to reveal only what information was necessary to those people who needed it to follow her orders. Eagan had become a crucial right hand to her efforts, but he remained subordinate.

When there are only a handful of apples, you don't upset the apple cart.


	6. Chapter 6

6 Fluid Logic

Nothing had felt more satisfying to Haymitch than his return to the bottle after the Hunger Games had ended. He did his job, he kept _both _tributes alive, and he warned Katniss about Snow's vindictiveness.

As soon as they had returned home, Haymitch hit the Capitol's bar. The second day back, staving off a hangover with a few swigs, he collected a boxful of expensive whiskeys, and trundled them home. That supply was long gone, bottles dropped on the floor, maybe broken. Today, somewhere on that endless expanse of a table, his tumbler was a mix of amber drink and saliva.

Haymitch rested against the back of his chair, leaning against the arm, head tipped back. He drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, unable to move without his mind swimming. At first, not much could get through the haze of alcohol. Not the distant echo, not the muddled voice, not even the creak of the door opening.

A piercing hammer of sunlight jabbed Haymitch in the left eye, which he immediately scrunched shut. The voice found his ear and cracked like thunder across his skull. He tried to pick up his head to growl at the intruder, only he found it far too heavy. All he could manage was to roll away from the searing light.

Still the voice tried to haul him up from the depths he loved so dearly. And something poked against his comfort; like a pebble in a shoe, something nagged at him. This particular voice had never interrupted his solitude. It echoed to him once more, haunting his isolation, insistent and... and young?

Haymitch's dark world evaporated back into a shining glaze as he attempted to see who it was. A palm touched his forehead, soft as feathers, and dainty, childlike. He groaned and tried to speak with his numbed lips. Through the fog in his mind, a fact deduced itself for him; it was late afternoon, meaning he had been asleep for... how many hours? Since sometime the night before.

Then the voice came clearly, nearby, the words simple and direct. "Can you hear me, Haymitch? It's Prim."

Oh, he thought. The stubborn one's little sister. She had talked to him several times in the past, although none of those conversations had imprinted much in his memory. That wasn't uncommon. Things that annoyed him about people would be the best memories he had of them.

Once a grunt struggled past his throat, he cleared it and took care to form three quiet words, "Hate... the... sun."

Prim stepped through the trash on the floor and closed the door. "My mother sent me over with some dinner for you."

With the furious light off his face, Haymitch opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He even found the weight of his head more manageable. Joints cracking, stretching sent sparks through his dead limbs. It felt good, actually, a bit of feeling to balance out the discomfort in his belly. Was it hunger or just disgust at the idea of solid foods?

"Whatzit?" He coughed and sat a little straighter in the chair. She must have cleared away my whisky, Haymitch speculated. The table had been wiped down too. When did she do that? All that remained was a dish with a tin lid laid before him.

"Turkey pot pie," she picked up the lid, steam billowing from beneath, to reveal a good-sized wedge of light-brown crust, gravy dripping out from vegetables and meat.

All questions were lost to Haymitch's mind and suddenly he was leaning over one side of the chair dry heaving. Fresh vomit on the floor explained why nothing came up now. He was still sick, though.

Primrose set the tin back down on the plate and filled a cup with water for him. She had to coax him into the first few sips. It was uncomfortable; the pressure on his sinuses made the water distasteful, almost revolting. This little girl helped her mother with patients though and had learned a few things about how to work someone into what was best for them.

Haymitch didn't have the strength to object, least of all to this little girl. She was so different from her obstinate sibling. Also, he _knew_ he was hungry. Usually by this time of day, he found enough energy to put together a bite or two. Then he would run a few errands, pick up more mindwash, have his clothes cleaned, sit around on the porch until he was too far under to be bothered by the smell of his home.

This had all become so routine for him. If he didn't eat soon, he'd be in trouble later on when he started drinking again. There're few things worse than needing to throw up and having nothing in there but the drink itself. Feels a lot like drowning in reverse.

Life wasn't pleasant for the victors of District 12. Of course, Katniss was the reason why both she and Peeta weren't happy. Haymitch had no choice after what happened to his family and to every tribute he tried to bring home until now. And of the two tributes he managed to bring back, only one of them was tolerable... It didn't matter.

After another cup of water, the spin of the room subsided just enough that he could consider the meal once more. Primrose lifted the cover away and said, "Just try a few bites and see if it stays down."

The fork trembled in his hand. Primrose didn't say anything and Haymitch didn't care. The tines crushed through the flaky crust and pierced the contents. It tasted good, everything lathered in a sort of gravy. It wasn't anywhere near as succulent as the food in the Capitol, but it was luxurious by local standards.

He risked chewing, paying close attention to the grumbles in his stomach. After several seconds, he swallowed and felt the warmth of the meal work its way down. And settle. For a moment, that feeling of improvement flooded tranquility through his veins. The shaking in his hands subsided.

"Feel any better?"

His mind searched for something to snap back. Anyone who woke him up should expect him to be bitter. Nothing came to mind and it was just as well. She did bring him the food. She had been gentle with him. Katniss had tipped his chair over to wake him a few weeks earlier. Instead of grouching at the kid, he ignored her.

"Prim," the voice sliced through the doorway. The slapping light washed over his eyes again.

"Speak of the devil," Haymitch muttered dragging another bite off the fork.

Katniss opened the door and looked inside from the porch, "Prim, go home."

Primrose felt Haymitch's forehead again, "You're a little feverish. Probably shouldn't overdo it for a while."

He ignored the attention and chewed as he worked up the nerve to swallow again. Another drink would help it go down, except all there was on the table was that gross tap water.

"Prim," Katniss nagged. Even talking to her sister, the one person she actually loved, Katniss was gruff and chilly.

As she left, Primrose told Haymitch, "If you want more, you're welcome over."

Katniss stood on the porch looking at him. "What is, sweetheart?" Haymitch chortled through the turkey. "Can't stand to see good food go to waste?"

Katniss scowled at him through the doorway, "I don't want Primrose coming over here."

"That makes two of us," he replied. "Why are you still here?"

"Enjoy your night," she snapped, reaching to close the door.

"Wait!" At first, Haymitch didn't know why he said it. Then he remembered why he drank so much the night before. "Wait, I have to ask you something."

Her hand rested on the knob, face a sculpture of spite.

"I ah..." Everything was a swirl in his brain. Nothing stayed on the surface for more than half a second. How had he decided to phrase it? The words slowly congealed in his mouth. "You've been... working... with Cinna... right?"

"No."

"What? You're supposed to be!" He tried to stand to find something worth drinking, yet he almost toppled over from the headrush.

Katniss made no indication she would help him if he had. "He does everything and pretends I'm learning."

She started to pull the door closed, until Haymitch reached out a hand. "Wait a second!" The door half-closed, Katniss not even looking at him, he spoke to her profile, "They're going to notice when you can't do the work yourself."

"So?" She let go of the door and turned to face him. "They don't mind what you're good at."

Haymitch remembered seeing the video of his stumbling off stage at the last Reaping, hollering at the camera like a wild man. That was the closest he had ever come to giving away the Underground. He had opposed the rigging and the fact that it was done anyhow set him off that day. He still wasn't sure it amounted to enough to matter.

"Look, sweetheart. I'm not the Capitol's darling. You are." He slid back down into his chair, feeling sweat bead on his forehead. He chose his words meticulously, "You barely squeaked by Snow. What are you gonna do? Have Cinna fake everything for you the rest of your life?"

"I..." She stammered for a second. She didn't know, he realized. She hasn't figured anything out since we got back. "Just stay away from Prim!" She growled and slammed the door.

Haymitch struggled to get up again and panted around the kitchen until he found a dirty old mug and a jar of the heavy stuff. The pie went down quick. It was no match for the powerful alcohol. The fog returned and he knew the coma would seize him too.

Nursing the swill, he reviewed Katniss' response. She hadn't settled things between her boyfriends, she didn't have the next few months of her life figured out, she didn't even understand her own family. But she remained defiant and hostile toward the Capitol.

That was all the Underground needed at this point. She had become a more perfect symbol of rebellion than they had initially planned. No amount of coaching would make her better. Probably the opposite was true. Katniss was irascible.

Haymitch sighed as he noted the alcohol tilting his head at odd angles. Maybe he drifted out of consciousness for a while, he couldn't tell. A pounding on the door brought him up from the stupor.

"Oh, goway!" he slurred. And the door opened. Of course she's back to give me a piece of her mind now, Haymitch thought.

"Haymitch, wake up!" Covas' voice seized him. The Peacekeeper snapped his fingers in front of his eyes.

"What're'ou doin ghere?" Again his words were tumbling out.

"Probably wasting my time." Covas observed. "How much have you had?"

"Not 'nuff..."

Covas sat down beside Haymitch and stared at him for a minute. When Haymitch lifted the jar to his lips, Covas grabbed his wrist in a vice. "We need to talk."

Haymitch huffed and set the jar down. He blinked away some of the fog. "Okay... shoot."

"You're going to start training the Everdeen girl—"

What began as a snort brought on a fit of coughing from Haymitch that drowned out Covas' words. "Yeah," cough! "that'll be the day."

"This is not a joke, Abernathy." Covas droned.

"But you tell it so... consincvingly" For a muddled retort, it seemed to hit just right in Haymitch's view.

"You know, I tried giving you the benefit of the doubt when I first arrived here. You don't deserve that charity any longer." Covas slapped the table. "You're nothing but a lazy drunk and a coward."

Even though most of it was true, none of the words hurt Haymitch. "Don't forget about my apathy." A devilish smile spread his lips, showing teeth. He could play this game wasted. Covas wasn't going to get his way here.

"We cannot afford for the Everdeen girl to turn into Snow's little princess!"

"Well, that's not up t'you!" Haymitch fired back. "Y'ever think about what it'd take to tell her about the plan? The risk 'nvolved? She'd hate us just as much as the Capitol!"

"That is _not_ your decision to make," Covas' words were sharpened to a point.

"'Fraid it is, Cap. I'm not just a go'tween. I'm sort've a firewall too." He raised the jar and this time Covas didn't stop his arm.

"You can't be serious."

"Why not?"

Covas leaned back in his chair. Haymitch felt a pang of happiness skirt through his chest. The Westfalls had learned to take what Haymitch advised because it was good advice, usually. It pleased him to see this new control-freak out of words to say, to see his argument knocked flat by a plain denial of what he wanted. Haymitch laughed inside and heaved a few more coughs out.

"Wise choices are respectable," Covas began, standing up and running a hand over the creases in his shirt, "but there's not a fluid ounce of wisdom in you, Haymitch."


	7. Chapter 7

7 Only My Way

A drunk, Covas thought to himself. All of our effort hinges on the lunacy of a drunk. It had been a few days since he went to Haymitch's domicile. An acrid, rotten stink still buzzed in his nostrils, more than likely a figment of his memory, something conjured up by his frustration.

In the years past, building the movement had always included a careful structure of command. No one had been in position to question the commands they were given. That had been the big problem with Kippen Silvernale. That was why Scipio wanted Covas to feel Silvernale out, try to determine whether he would be a reliable member.

Here in 12, the situation was a little different. No one could control Haymitch's placement, or his necessity. Covas clenched his jaw as he thought, what kind of drunk is totally impervious to suggestion? Was it ego that made him resilient to commands? Was it fear? What? None of that added up. Some obscure part of Haymitch held a rusty grip over his motivations.

On his desk, the phone bleated for attention. Covas put down his pen and picked up the receiver. "Captain Covas speaking."

"Captain, I have a call from the Capitol for you," Willow's voice.

He nodded at his desk, "Go ahead and put it through."

There was a click and then Willow said, "I have the captain on the line now." Another click.

Another voice, a man's curt tone, rattled words through the speaker, "Captain, this is the Office of the Commandant. Wait a moment while I see if he's ready to speak to you." The line clicked over to a Peacekeeper march Covas remembered from basic training long ago.

The Commandant? Covas had never actually spoken to Commandant Filo before. Filo's position placed him in the lofts of rank, at the very peak of the Peacekeepers. It was no small task overseeing the security in all twelve districts _and_ the Capitol.

Covas pulled a pad of paper from one of his desk drawers and flipped to a blank page. Pen in hand, he waited, combing all stray thoughts out of his mind. Usually, he was adept enough to handle a dozen different lies and always keep everything straight. Lying to the Commandant would be something new, though.

"Captain," Filo's voice snapped a jolt from Covas' ear down his spine.

"Yessir."

"Captain, I have a report on my desk regarding a moment observed between Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne." A page flipped in the background. "This was not observed by anyone in the Corps?"

"That is correct, sir."

"Its reliability is in question then," Filo surmised. "You have increased surveillance of these two, I expect."

It had been a long time since Covas had stammered, "Uh… W-Well, not really, sir. The source for that incident is trustworthy. As is also covered in the report, it's common knowledge in this district that Hawthorne is not related to the Everdeens."

"You were _not_ sent there for _common_ _knowledge_, captain." Filo's voice was terse, spring-loaded. Covas was expected to understand why.

He decided to risk taking a stronger pose. As a subordinate officer, the key was to know his job, respectfully insist on why he was doing things his way. "This may be a small town, sir, but there're a lot of rocks to turn over just the same."

"Or go under. Cray's reported that you've gone into the mines."

"Yes, sir." Covas bit his lip. He and Broadmark had both filed reports on conditions in the mines, and the lack of any evidence the mines were being used as meeting spots between subversives. Truthfully, Covas already knew that Lorris had several small groups of miners who knew vaguely of the coming rebellion. Such networks are easy to hide in a place of misery like the mines.

Filo pointed out why that was so, "Peacekeepers don't go into the mines. We have to maintain the separation between the workers and the rest."

Covas understood the divisions the Capitol maintained between themselves and those who supported them. Nothing else had been clearer in his mind while a mile underground. It was stuffy, cramped, damp, dark, hellish. Dragging Broadmark around down there had been the only enjoyable aspect of the whole charade.

"Yes sir. The only reason we went into the mines was to see whether or not there could be any subversive collusion underground. After all, the Peacekeepers never go down there."

"And what did you find?"

"Sir, even outside of the mine, we haven't found anything yet. Whoever set up the Reaping, their organization is tiny."

A long sigh bit static on the line. "Captain, I realize that these things take time. But the reason you were given this task is you get results. If you can't get results, I'll put other officers there who will."

Filo wasn't threatening him, Covas knew. It was a plain statement of fact. The Commandant was demanding success and he didn't care who he got it from. "I'm going to give you two months to find out who set up the Reaping and how they did it. I want to know whether Katniss Everdeen is in on this conspiracy, and I want to know how all the members communicate." He paused and took a deep breath, speaking delicately. "You will answer these questions, Captain Covas, will you not?"

"I will, sir." He heard the line click dead and hung up the receiver.

Two months. The President wants to destroy those involved by the time the Victory Tour gets under way, Covas thought. It wasn't going to do, sending in reports about all their efforts and having no results to show for it.

So far, the pair of investigators had turned in reports on the mines, the personnel of the Justice Building, the amount of traffic going past the fences, blackmarket trading, illegal production, and Peacekeeper laziness. None of it showed much in the way of the Underground.

Covas had hoped that a dance-and-pony show of all their investigation would be enough. Look at all of the looking we've done! No, that wasn't going to work. The Capitol was hungry for blood and would stomach nothing less. This time, there was no Kippen Silvernale to pluck out and execute, no sacrifice that could be made to preserve the rest.

For a moment, Haymitch Abernathy's image slid back into Covas' mindsight. Haymitch a wild goose? Would the Capitol accept a victor as the perpetrator of crimes? No, again. Haymitch was too drunk to stand on Reaping day, and everyone in Panem had seen it. Besides, he wasn't an exposure risk to the Underground; he was just being difficult about helping to move the plan forward.

The Westfalls couldn't be given up. Eagan could probably go, except that would also take down Willow and she was vital to the communication system for much of the Underground in the districts, not to mention getting word to and from 13. That left Lorris, the only active leader in the Seam. It was he who was responsible for constructing a network for the eventual day when District 12 rebelled. Without him, the network couldn't be activated.

No one was non-essential. Covas rejected his feelings on the matter. An ordinary person might have felt relieved that no one was to be sacrificed for the cause. This was a harsh business and no one who used their heart too much could stand it. Covas' decisions were based on the plan and logical steps to accomplish it, nothing more.

So there had to be _something_, some amount of action to reassure Filo that things were being done. At the same time, Haymitch would have to be convinced somehow that the Everdeen girl was to be made a member... And then it hit him.

The combination was so simple. Take action and kill two birds with one stone. He stood up and grabbed his holster from a desk drawer. Weapon now on his side, Covas pulled on a warm jacket. Fall had arrived chilly and it had looked like rain for the next few days.

Just as he reached for the door, it opened, Broadmark striding in. "Lieutenant, I was just on my way to find you."

Broadmark tilted his head, "But I'm early." Over the past months, Broadmark had become used to working for Covas, and the two had slowly dropped the formality

Covas hadn't realized it was nearly eleven. "We're going to have to put off the meeting, Abel. Run over to your office and pick up your coat and then meet me at the equipment depot." He moved past the younger man walking down the hall, shoes thumping with each rapid step.

The equipment depot was a cramped room in the basement; racks stuffed together running to the ceiling, overloaded with items from riot gear to brooms to thumbtacks. At the desk, an enlisted Peacekeeper slept and drooled, cheek pressed into fist.

Rolling his eyes, Covas slapped the countertop, shocking the man awake. "This is not the barracks, sergeant."

The man nodded and yawned. "What'll it be?"

"A sledge, an ax, a pair of flashlights, and..." Covas looked the shelves over thinking what else they would need. "Do you have any galoshes?"

"Uh…" The Peacekeeper slid a form onto the counter. "Maybe, let me see." He disappeared behind the racks.

Covas filled out the form for the three items. Broadmark arrived with his jacket and pistol. "We arresting someone?"

"If she makes trouble." Covas returned the form to the sergeant who set a pair of galoshes on the counter along with an ax and a sledgehammer. "Two pairs, actually."

"Yes, sir." The sergeant disappeared once more, returning a few seconds later with the flashlights and extra pair.

"Carry these," Covas picked up the galoshes by the lash and handed them to Broadmark. "And the ax." He picked up the sledge and his own pair, stuffing the flashlights into the legs of the oversized boots. "Let's go."

They used the side door which released behind the Justice Building. A chill tumbled down the cement staircase. It had cooled further as the morning broke, a new experience for Covas. In 11, the summer warmth dragged on into late October and the agriculture district never really froze over. The talk of the "feet of snow" that arrives each winter set him off guard.

"Abel, let's get some of that meeting wrapped up." Covas tucked the galoshes under his arm and moved the sledge to his shoulder. "Where are we on the Reaping?"

"I've looked into the security procedures. Not airtight, but sufficient. I'm getting some shipping records together."

That perked up Covas' ears. "Shipping records? What for?"

Broadmark stepped around a muddy puddle as they walked into the business district. "The counterfeit entries were well-made. They were produced somewhere and there's nothing here that can manage that."

"Right," the captain agreed.

"It had to be some place with paper stock and printing machines. Only a few of the districts could do it, so the best thing is to look at records of shipments from those districts."

"And the Capitol? They make up the entries every year."

"Yes, I haven't excluded that possibility."

Good, Covas thought. That should keep Broadmark off the trail for a while. The tribute entries were produced in District 13's printing mill. The card stock was matched with the same type the Capitol used for the entries. Even the font was precisely replicated. The entries were smuggled past the fence and into Eagan's shoe shop. From there Willow took the box into the Justice Building three weeks before the Reaping, leaving it in place for Madge Undersee.

"Anything yet?"

"Besides disorganized paperwork and terrible handwriting, it's looking like a dry well." They were just passing the shoe shop. Covas allowed a flicker of devious glee at the irony. Broadmark was oblivious, continuing his thought, "It'd be easy to hide though. It wouldn't need to be a large package, maybe no bigger than a thick book."

"Yeah, frankly, that could be hidden in any other box of stuff. Just leave out some of the packaging."

"The other half of the equation is also a mystery. What happened to the real entries? They could be disposed of a dozen different ways. There's no security check to look at the trash before burial."

Covas felt his lips purse slightly, holding back a laugh. It had been a long time since he'd had this much trouble keeping his stony appearance. The real entries had been shipped to him in District 11. Broadmark was looking at shipping for the segment where the fakes were smuggled and he was looking for smuggling where the originals were shipped.

They pushed into the Seam and past the drab dwellings. Before they arrived at their destination, both of them began to see their breath as they exhaled. "What's this place?" Broadmark pointed to the ramshackle cabin that Covas had brought them to.

He was looking around the sides, one after the other, looking for signs of life. "This is an example to be made." Covas set the sledge down beside the door to unlash his galoshes. "Get 'em on," He pulled the flashlights out and angled his shoes into the galoshes. Broadmark followed suit.

Rapping his knuckles against the door, Covas called out, "Anybody home? Open up!"

A voice hollered back, the voice of a tough woman, aged by hardship. "I ain't openin' anything! Get it tonight at the Hob!"

Covas hammered his fist against the heavy wood, "Open up! The law of Panem gives Peacekeepers authority to make warranted searches!"

"Peacekeepers?" The shout was quieter, concerned.

"When did you get a warrant for home search?" Broadmark whispered.

"Drew it up this morning." He turned back to the door. "Open up or we're gonna tear this door down!"

"Alright, alright! Give me a second." The voice growled.

Broadmark asked, "What did Cray say?"

"Haven't seen him," Covas replied. "My position here has independent power, even on warrants."

"Well, we could use that for a lot more thi— " The sound of a deadbolt sliding back cut Broadmark off.

The door creaked as the woman pulled it open, guarding the gap with her body. "What do you want?"

Covas picked up the sledge and pushed the door the rest of the way open. "Step aside, please." He walked into the room, immediately catching the sour musk of mildew.

Broadmark strode in and waved the ax around. "No lights?"

"Windows do fine, enough," she sneered at them, slamming the door shut with her hand. Her other arm was a stump that ended a few inches from where her elbow would be.

Her tiny cottage was wrecked; grime covering the kitchen, dishes smeared with gruel, even a few bones from some rodent collected flies in one corner. Dirty clothes formed a crusty layer on a bed in the corner. Despite what she had said, the windows were covered with thick drapes.

"Hester Ripper, you are hereby served with a warrant for search and seizure of illegal property." Covas presented a paper to Ripper.

She snatched it, crumpling one side, "I don't have anything, but you'll take it all, anyhow!"

"Where is it, then?" Covas didn't even glance around the tiny room again.

"Where is what?" Ripper glared at the Peacekeepers.

Covas stared back, impassive. When Ripper turned away, he thought, everyone always chooses the hard way. "Start moving things," he said to Broadmark.

With one hand, Covas dragged the table from the center of the room. The floor beneath it was bare, dusty old boards. He went over to the cabinets in the kitchen and opened the lower ones and looked inside. A few pots and pans, half a loaf of bread, stale and moldy, and dozens of bottles and jars.

"Over here, captain," Broadmark called out. He had first moved the dresser out of and back into place. Underneath the bed though, there was a hole cut in the floor.

"Ah, here we are." The hole was just wide enough to accommodate Covas' frame, a rickety wooden staircase that descended into the ground beneath the shack. The two Peacekeepers stooped, climbed down the staircase, and flicked the flashlights on.

Probably Ripper had someone come in to help with the rudimentary construction. The clay walls were held back with a layer of masonry that had no specific theme; bricks were jammed between flat rocks and boards, all of it fossilized in place with a cheap mortar. Despite lacking visual appeal, the walls seemed to hold up quite well. And the ceiling was even better; a layer of thick plywood with robust timbers bracing back the dirt, wall to wall.

Covas reached the bottom about a dozen steps in and the passage opened into a room almost as large as Ripper's whole cabin. The Peacekeepers were able to stand up straight as they looked around. Several lanterns were hung throughout the room, unlit. On one wall, shelves had been constructed to accommodate sets of glass bottles and jars, some of them filled with a gray-milky-white liquid. On the other side of the room, the shelves were loaded with sacks of grain, a few bars of soap and other cleaning supplies, several books, and miscellanea.

This room was kept much cleaner than the one upstairs. The floor was also wood, but it looked polished and washed. There was not a trace of dust to be found on the shelves or the lanterns. There weren't even cobwebs in the rafters.

In the center of the room sat the reason for their visit. A stone fireplace was built into the floor underneath a tin hood designed to catch the smoke and guide it through a vent into Ripper's kitchen chimney. Between the hood and the coal burner sat a bulbous, copper contraption, like a teardrop that tapered into a tube at the top and then corkscrewed down into a set of canisters linked together with more copper tubing. The base of the large pot was blackened and discolored by the heat.

Ripper hadn't followed them down, and Covas had already decided he wasn't going to arrest her for producing and selling swill. There were only two reasons for being here; the first was to give Filo a report of action taken (even though Ripper wasn't a member of the Underground), and the second was to pull Haymitch Abernathy off the stuff or at least give him a jolt.

The still wasn't being used at the moment. It sat cold and dormant. "Whenever you please, lieutenant," Covas waved his flashlight over the copper belly. Broadmark set his flashlight down and hefted the ax in the air.

He brought the blade across the side of the pot and pierced a hole that leaked water and goo and grain. After several more strikes, the still was emptied of its contents, sludge spilled across the floor. While Broadmark held the light, Covas took a few whacks at the canisters with the sledge, knocking them loose and breaking the soldering that held everything together. In minutes, Ripper's industry had been reduced to a crumpled red husk in the fire pit. Covas and Broadmark smashed the jars of white liquor against the wall, leaving the empty containers.

They climbed back up the stairs to where Ripper waited, glowering at them as she sat on the bed, her one hand clenched in rage. She didn't say anything as the Peacekeepers left.

Back outside, pulling the galoshes off, Broadmark asked, "Shouldn't we arrest her?"

Covas shook his head, "It'd be up to Cray and the Mayor, what to do with her." He lashed his galoshes together and they began the walk back to the Justice Building. "Cray is a customer and Undersee doesn't like punishing people. This is a message from Filo that Cray needs to shape up."

"She's smart though, Hester Ripper. She'll make a new still and put it someplace harder to find." Broadmark pointed out.

"Maybe. For now, the drinkers in twelve are out of luck."


	8. Chapter 8

8 Back Off…

Eagan was unpacking a small shipment of shoes and socks from the District 8. Everything he had ordered seemed to be included, quality about as expected. The socks would need a lot of darning over the months. All the best weaves were reserved for the Capitol.

It wasn't that the Capitol couldn't spare any quality products for the districts. In fact, there was plenty to go around. But how do you make people work like slaves when they could live a much easier life? With his less-than-substantial knowledge, Eagan intuitively recognized that something was off about the economic arrangement, and at heart, it was a political arrangement; one of power.

No matter, he told himself. We're making strides to change all that. After the nerve-racking work of the previous year, leading up to the fixed Reaping, it was nice to finally get some peace and quiet. Other districts would bear the brunt of the effort for the time being.

He checked off his books, recording that the order had been filled, and placed the bill of lading into a small filing cabinet. No one ever wanted to know whether he was running his business properly. Willow had always insisted that it would be better to have records and documents if the Peacekeepers ever came sniffing around.

The first pair of shoes was a patchy, leather pair; dark brown and gritty. Such a type of leather was disliked for shoes. Eagan set aside the four pairs of that type. Over the next few days he would spend several hours on each, rubbing oil into the leather surfaces to polish, harden, and protect them.

Just as he grabbed a bag of socks to restock the shelf, the door opened with a slam against the wall, startling Eagan enough to drop the now-open bag, spilling socks onto the display rack. "Whoa! Haymitch, what's the deal!" Eagan crouched to collect the merchandise.

Haymitch didn't reply right away, he stepped in, jittery and nervous, letting the door swing shut behind him. "Covas!" Haymitch growled. "That two-faced Volente Covas!"

Eagan dumped the socks in the display bin, deciding to sort and roll them later. He turned to Haymitch and looked the man over. Arms shaking at his side, face splotchy like a smashed grape, hair matted with sweat and pasted to his skin. Haymitch always wore expensive clothes, but these were wrinkled and tugged out of place. He was even panting.

"What on earth happened?" Eagan asked, guiding the Haymitch to seat where people could try on shoes.

Haymitch was too restless to sit for long, jumping back to his feet after a few seconds of shifting in the chair. "Covas went after Ripper!"

Eagan wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Ripper? That old lady that sells everyone booze? What does Covas want with her?"

"What d'ya think?" Haymitch moaned. "He's mad that I won't be a good little soldier and do what he says!"

That was a real possibility. Covas had not been totally open with anyone in District 12 about how he was going to do things on his end. Eagan was used to Willow keeping secrets, but no one else. How could Willow communicate with 13 when Covas is running rogue? He probably saw the Underground in 12 to be amateurish and tiny.

"I can't believe this…" Haymitch stumbled and slid back into the seat. "can't believe this…" His voice weakened. His panic was drained away, replaced with resignation to new horrors, a life without spirits.

Eagan didn't know what to say. There wasn't much he could say. Willow would talk to Covas at some point and try to figure out what was going on. None of that would matter, though, depending upon what Covas had done. "Did he arrest Ripper?"

"No… She told me he and another Peacekeeper came in and destroyed her still. She can't make anything anymore."

It took more than an hour to get Haymitch to go home. Haymitch didn't want to face that house of his with only the few shots of alcohol he had left. Finally, he decided to go, but not before Eagan became truly concerned that he would end up doing something foolish.

Willow came home late again. Eagan and the kids had already eaten. She had spoken to District 13, but wasn't forthcoming as to what had been discussed. He told her about Covas destroying Ripper's still, about Haymitch coming apart at the seams. She agreed that Covas had to be confronted.

It was another two days before they could set up the meeting and by that time, Haymitch was a wreck. He was incapable of holding a conversation, constantly doused in sweat, jittery, spotting horrible nightmares that didn't exist. And he was losing weight fast. For someone of Haymitch's build, that was disastrous.

Neither Haymitch, nor Lorris were invited to the back of the shoe shop. The Westfalls wanted to handle Covas alone. Assuming her authority, Willow spoke first, "Haymitch isn't going to be able to function if you continue this prohibition."

Covas stared at them impassively and replied, "I expect you're right."

Eagan's brow crumpled with his frown, his wife responded. "Let me rephrase, he isn't going to survive."

"And I will add," Covas immediately began, leaning back against a countertop, "with his current level of alcohol dependence, I expect you're right."

Willow's voice froze with her frustration, "Oh, surely you're not trying to kill him!"

"I'm not doing _anything_ to him. I didn't make him drink in the past. I'm just not going to let him drink away his sense now."

"This is all because he won't defer to you regarding Katniss?" Eagan blinked, trying to clear his mind. "That wasn't your call to make, Cov-"

"I am doing a decent job of keeping Snow and his hounds away from you people. You aren't going to waste my efforts because you're too timid."

"Too timid!" Eagan exploded, sliding off the table to his feet.

Covas went on, calm as ever, "Yes, too timid. You spent all the time to set these two in place, Mellark and the Everdeen girl, and now you _have_ to _use_ them to fuel the rebellion. You have no other choice."

For a few seconds all Eagan could hear in the quiet back room was his teeth grinding, his skin stretched tight over his fists, rubbing together like the groan of a leather jacket.

Willow spoke up, trying to ease the tension. "Rest assured, Volente, we have every intention of doing just that. There is a world of difference between timidity and temerity." She brought an edge back to her tone, speaking as one who authorized all things. "What we truly cannot afford is recklessness."

"And you think it wasn't reckless to leave the two victors in the hands of a savage drunk?" Covas was bitter and letting it show.

"Given what we know of Haymitch Abernathy, the victors were in good hands until an imprudent decision was made to yank away his only security blanket." Willow took a deep breath and sighed. She adopted statements that usually came from Eagan, and were depressing even to her, and she didn't often let other people's miseries bother her. "Chemical addiction aside, Haymitch depends upon alcohol because it's the only thing that has never failed him. It always lets him out of his depression, it absolves his loneliness… Without it, he'll die. As likely as it is that he won't survive withdrawal, he is also incapable of facing the demons of his life without the buzz. He'll either die from physical dependence, or he will kill himself."

Covas finally leaned forward, though his voice still didn't soften, "I understand all that. But what does it matter? At the moment, he's an impediment to our being able to use the victors." He held his palms out wide. "How are we supposed to get them to-"

"You were not brought here for that." Willow scolded. "Your job here is to keep the Peacekeepers from discovering us. Haymitch was no threat to that."

"Snow is looking for blood. Filo essentially demanded that the Underground be taken apart by the victory tour. He wants to see results."

"Don't hide behind that." Willow scowled at him. "You knew full well what you were doing. Why not go after the prostitution? Or the Hob?"

Eagan marveled at his wife. He had not seen this level of sparring from her before. This was why District 13 had given her operational command in 12. Even years after her formal training, she was good at this.

"No, Volente, you went after Ripper the rum-runner. And you did it because you don't like Haymitch, forgetting all the while, Haymitch takes his orders from me, no matter what it sounds like, _I_ am the one who ultimately decided not to bring the Everdeen girl in."

Covas still sat passive, almost unaffected by Willow's words. Eagan wondered if that had to do with his formal training. Given his success in the Peacekeeper Corps and also in the Underground, he probably wasn't used to be dressed down anymore. He was collected and cool though, voice unchanged when he replied, "Very well. However, I want to know how you're planning on coercing her into inciting rebellion. I deserve to know that much."

Willow gazed at him, as if asking, 'Why do you continue to push your authority?'

Eagan realized that Covas was too high a player for his current role. He was used to knowing everything that was going on. He was used to having input on all important decisions. Willow was very independent of advice, except when she got it from 13. She almost never sought it from Eagan. He always wanted to help her, but she didn't rely on him that way. She didn't rely on him for much outside of the family.

She spoke, "Katniss is a very 'in-the-moment' girl. She will look the part, thanks to her stylist, and she will hopefully manage a few words that will act as incendiary to the powder keg in some districts. Haymitch will observe her mental state and nudge her in the appropriate direction, but he will also caution her against inciting rebellion outright. Snow could kill her family, and she would kill herself.

"So it's a fine line she has to walk. That means she will need more attention than any of us can give her. We can't go with her on the tour, and we can't get away with constantly contacting her. We can't monitor her mental state, nor can we adjust it appropriately. Haymitch is crucial." Willow leaned her head forward, her eyes dark coals, her voice soft and calculating. "So back off."

Covas gave a light shrug, "Very well."

He stood up to leave the meeting, but Eagan interrupted. "It's not so easy as that; Ripper needs to know she can sell without the threat of harassment."

"A few careless comments around the barracks should do," He replied pulling on a light jacket. Fall was finally settling in for the season. "She'll be back in business soon enough." Then Covas was through the back door.

"Will?" Willow was staring at the closed door, deep in thought. Eagan set his hand on her shoulder, but she slid away from his touch. She was still in authoritative mode. "Hey, Willy…"

After another minute she made a statement, "I don't want Covas interfering and I would prefer that he not have any contact with Haymitch."

"That might be awfully difficult to enforce. He can go see the victors without raising suspicion. In fact, he's supposed to be investigating the victors."

"We should tell Haymitch to let us know everything that goes on between them."

Eagan glanced at his wife's expression. She was still in the depths of consideration somewhere. "It's that bad?"

Willow finally surfaced. She looked at her husband, "Covas is trying to take the Underground in his own hands, trying to control it. He executed a man for that just a few months ago."

"Right," Eagan nodded. "Did District 13 tell you that?"

"They said he needs to focus on his task. He wants to involve himself in everything, but he's not doing a very good job of distracting Snow."

Eagan didn't know what to say to that. He felt like there wasn't a great deal that could be done about that. Snow seemed ready to strike at any moment. The rebellion had to get going soon, or else the Peacekeepers would tear it apart before the first shots were fired.

Either way, Haymitch would be able to deal with the real world again by escaping it, if he could hold on long enough for Ripper to get production and distribution back up. The Westfalls would await orders. Lorris would quietly recruit able-bodied men to be ready for when the time came to storm the government sector… And Covas would stew in his task, but he would take care of it.


End file.
